


Point all the fingers

by notallballs (notallbees)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Bodyswap, Canon-Typical Violence, Dyslexia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fights, M/M, Masturbation, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Self-cest, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 67,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallballs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Shinji! Listen, something really fucking weird is going on—”</p>
  <p>“Huh? K—Kyoutani-kun?"</p>
  <p>Shigeru groans. He <i>really</i> hopes he isn’t going crazy. “No! No, it’s not Kyoutani, it’s Shigeru—”</p>
  <p>Watari makes a soft noise of surprise. “Mhm,” he sighs, obviously still half asleep. “Why d’you have Kyou’s phone?”</p>
  <p>“Because I’m him!” Shigeru hisses. “I woke up, and I’m Kyouken! I think I’m in his house, I—”</p>
  <p>“Dude,” Watari says, his voice quiet and slow yet filled with indescribable betrayal. “It’s <i>so early</i>.”</p>
</blockquote>

<p>Kyoutani and Yahaba are not friends, which only makes things even stranger when they wake up one morning trapped in each other’s bodies. To make matters worse, the switches keep happening, interrupting classes and volleyball practice and generally making their lives hell. It’s clear that neither of them can fix this on their own, but if they want to get back to normal they’ll have to do the impossible.</p><p>They’ll have to talk to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *deep breath*
> 
> I had this ridiculous idea one night, and ilgaksu seemed to think it had legs, and here we are two months later. I need to thank coruu for their help getting the outline together; chromotps for claiming the fic, getting excited about it, and producing some truly INCREDIBLE artwork despite me giving them content at the last minute; ellessey for reading, cheerleading, and berating me every time I tortured the characters; latestphase for being a thoughtful and hugely encouraging beta; pussycat-scribbles for a very last minute and very helpful proofread; candy-harlot and asexualkurootetsurou for word sprinting with me over and over again; and lastly beingoddish, for holding my hand through this entire process even (and especially) when they were supposed to be working. 
> 
> If it wasn't for these people, this fic would be three pages in my notebook of Kyoutani complaining that Yahaba's dick is bigger than his. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please enjoy! 
> 
>  
> 
>  **Important note** : There are some minor dark elements that I have deliberately not tagged. They will be warned for in the notes of the relevant chapter, so please keep an eye on the chapter notes as you read if you have triggers. You are also welcome to message/ask me on tumblr if you need more information before reading. Please be safe! x

 ***

 

 

 

[link to artbychromo](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com/post/149760770476/kyoutani-and-yahaba-are-not-friends-which-only)

 

 

Kentarou wakes up from an unsettling dream about his teammates to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm. Yue must have been playing with his phone again, and he curses her half-heartedly as he swipes it into silence. It’s tempting— _so tempting_ —to roll over and go back to sleep, but Kentarou realises quickly that it’s not going to be possible. He's got the boner from hell and he really, _really_ has to pee.

Sitting up, he stretches and then squints. His room seems darker than usual. He gets to his feet and, groaning at the near-painful erection, makes a fumbling attempt to tuck himself back in his jockey shorts. It involves swearing. They must have shrunk or something because his dick barely fits in them; he has to tuck himself under the waistband and pray he doesn’t meet anyone in the hallway.

With a scowl, he picks his way to the door, yelping every time he stands on something—he doesn’t remember leaving his room so messy—and crosses the hall to the toilet.

Kentarou opens the toilet door and smacks his head on a shelf.

“What the—fuck, the—what?” he says, rubbing his forehead. Where the toilet should be is a closet, the shelves lined with spare linens and towels. He’s never seen any of it before in his life. “Where the hell is the toilet?” he murmurs, resisting the urge to swear more, just in case Yue can hear him.

Kentarou shuts the door, waits for a moment, and then opens it again. It’s still a closet. He closes the door carefully and glances over his shoulder at his bedroom. It’s not his bedroom. Whatever the reason, which is really too much to think about this early on a Monday morning, he’s in someone else’s house.

The only reason Kentarou doesn’t panic is that he still _really_ needs to pee. He lunges for the next nearest door and tugs it open.

It is not a toilet. Instead he appears to have found a girl’s bedroom, which he knows for sure because there’s a teenage girl standing there in her underwear.

“Shigeru! What do you want, perv?” she says carelessly, putting her hands on her hips.

Kentarou slams the door shut again with an unmanly squeak. He can feel himself turning scarlet.

“Knock next time, you piece of shit!” she yells through the door at him.

“Sorry,” he growls, wincing when his voice comes out weird and cracked. Maybe he’s getting sick. He glances down. Of course he’s still hard, of _course_ he is. He couldn’t just wake up in a strange house, he had to wake up in a strange house with _the worst morning wood of all time_ and then go flex it in front of some total stranger. He’s probably going to get arrested. Again.

Kentarou swallows down panic and looks for another door. These people have got to have a bathroom. He stalks along the hallway and tries another door, sighing with relief when he opens it and finds a shower, bathtub, sink. No toilet, but he’s desperate enough by now that it doesn’t matter, so he whips his dick out and leans over the basin. His head still aches where he smacked it on the shelf, and Kentarou wouldn’t be surprised if he’s given himself a bruise.

He looks up and meets his own gaze in the mirror above the sink. The ensuing scream is not something he’s proud of.

Nor is spraying the sink, the mirror, the toothbrushes and the floor with his own piss, but things happen when you startle a guy mid-stream.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Rather than snoozing his way through three alarms before scrambling his way to morning practice by the skin of his teeth, Shigeru is woken by Sadashi throwing open the door to his bedroom and jumping on top of him. He responds with a yelp and an unprecedented torrent of swear words.

“Sadashi!” he shrieks, tugging up the sheet when she merely sits there, stunned by his outburst. “Get the fuck out!”

After a moment’s hesitation, she flings herself off the bed again and runs out of the room. Shigeru blinks at her retreating silhouette; it looks a lot smaller than it should be. Cursing his lost half hour of dozing, Shigeru climbs reluctantly out of bed and hesitates when his feet touch the floor. It feels wrong, somehow. His whole body feels strange, if he’s honest, like when he and Sadashi got tipsy at their father’s new year party in front of all his clients, and Kichiro had screamed at them about embarrassing the family.

Finding his way to the bathroom feels more difficult than normal, even taking into account the fact that he’s still half asleep. He feels turned around and clumsy, like nothing quite works right and things aren't where he remembers them. He must be getting sick. Half the team has been out with colds in the past few weeks, and two of the first years caught a chest infection. Shigeru is probably lucky he lasted this long.

There's shouting downstairs, voices he doesn't recognise; Mom must have the volume turned up on the tv. Shigeru finds the bathroom. It looks _wrong_. There are toys around the bath, and all kinds of pink things on the shelf by the sink, and both he and Sadashi grew out of pink in middle school.

He looks in the mirror.

“Oh what the _fuck_.”

 

 

The phone seems to ring forever, but finally he hears the click and crackle of an answer and he starts talking, hurriedly, over the top of Watari’s muffled ‘H'lo?’

“Shinji! Listen, something really fucking weird is going on—”

“Huh? K—Kyoutani-kun?"

Shigeru groans. He _really_ hopes he isn’t going crazy. “No! No, it’s not Kyoutani, it’s Shigeru—”

Watari makes a soft noise of surprise. “Mhm,” he sighs, obviously still half asleep. “Why d’you have Kyou’s phone?”

“Because I’m him!” Shigeru hisses. “I woke up, and I’m Kyouken! I think I’m in his house, I—”

“Dude,” Watari says, his voice quiet and slow yet filled with indescribable betrayal. “It’s _so early_.”

“Shinji—”

“I can’t believe you woke me up on a Monday, man.”

“Wait—”

“It’s cool, we can talk at school if you want, okay?”

“Shin—”

Watari hangs up before Shigeru can finish, and he holds the phone away to stare at it in horrified disbelief. He finds himself studying the hand wrapped around the phone. Kyoutani’s fingers are long but stubby looking, with wide flat nail beds and large knuckles. Shigeru pulls a face.

“Nii-chan!” a voice yells from outside the door, startling him into dropping the phone. “Breakfast!”

Shigeru puts his head in his hands. This has to be a dream. A nightmare. He considers calling Sadashi, but he’s fairly sure that would go even worse than with Watari. It’s only then that Shigeru thinks about the implication of what’s going on; if he’s here, where’s Kyoutani?

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Kentarou arrives to school twenty minutes late to his first class, which makes him angry.

People always talk about him being some kind of delinquent but he’s only ever been late to class once and only because volley practice ran over. It’s not _his_ fault he had to find his way to school from some random apartment he’s never even been to, in some fancy fucking part of town he’s barely even heard of.

Yahaba’s apartment, apparently, going by the name on the letterbox, and by—what he saw in the mirror. Kentarou is trying not to think about it too hard because it _doesn’t fucking make any sense_. Even if he throws out all logic and sense for a moment to entertain the notion that, somehow, he really woke up in Yahaba Shigeru’s body, then everything is awful because Yahaba is a smarmy cream puff with stupid hair and a face that’s asking to be punched.

On the other hand, he’s walking around with a tyrannosaurus in his pants, so Kentarou can’t help feeling some smidgen of grudging respect for him. Even if he is a cream puff.

“Yahaba-kun!” a voice calls from down the hallway.

Kentarou pulls open his shoe locker and takes out his school shoes, but the fucking things won’t fit. They are, of all things, at least a size too small. Realisation rolls over him, followed a second later by annoyance. Of course; this isn’t his locker, and these aren’t his shoes, and for some absurd fucking reason, Yahaba’s got bigger feet than he does.

Suppressing a shudder, Kentarou slams the locker shut and stalks off to find Yahaba’s. Someone is still yelling nearby. Very near in fact. They stop right next to him and his gut rolls in trepidation.

“Yahaba-kun! You should be in class!”

Kentarou looks up and freezes when he finds the vice principal glaring at him. “O—oh, Sensei,” he stammers, dropping forward into a clumsy bow. “Sorry.”

The dressing down he gets from the vice principal is mercifully short, in light of the fact that Kentarou— _Yahaba_ —still needs to get to class, but after the first two seconds Kentarou switches off. After all, he’s not really in trouble.

Yahaba is.

 

 

Kentarou has to pass his own classroom on the way to Yahaba’s, but when he pauses to glance in through the window, his own seat is empty. Finally, Kentarou really begins to panic. He’d assumed that he would get to school, find Yahaba, and convince him to stop whatever stupid witchcraft caused this disaster. But what if Yahaba isn’t even behind this? His body could be anywhere. He could be dead.

Murakawa-sensei turns around to glare at him through the window and Kentarou glares back instinctively. Surprise registers on Murakawa’s face and Kentarou remembers belatedly, again, that he is not him right now. The thought of goody two shoes Yahaba scowling at teachers cheers him very slightly. Still, he hurries on before he gets yelled at again, because Monday morning feels a little early to be getting yelled at once, let alone twice, even for him.

Halfway along the corridor, he staggers suddenly, a strange shudder rolling through him. It’s not quite painful, but it feels decidedly _wrong_ , and he closes his eyes for a moment to clear the sense of vertigo.

When he opens them again, the second year corridor has been replaced with the weird fluorescent lighting of the volleyball clubroom. He spins in place. First the wrong body, and now, what? Teleporting? Kentarou looks around himself and groans. “What. The fuck.”

He’s somewhere familiar, at least, and his body feels different. Awkward and familiar. The third years haven’t cleared out their lockers yet despite officially quitting the team, and Kentarou stalks over to Oikawa’s locker. Oikawa keeps a compact mirror taped to the inside of the locker door, and Kentarou only hesitates for a brief moment before yanking it open to examine himself, relieved when he finds that the broken lock still hasn't been fixed.

It’s him. His own face. Not Yahaba’s. Kentarou lets out a shaky sigh of relief and quietly closes the locker again.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Yo, Captain!”

Shigeru has barely stepped out of his classroom at the start of lunchbreak when a familiar voice calls out. He can’t immediately place it beyond a certainty that it’s someone from the team, and he has a brief shudder of trepidation at the idea of Kyoutani confronting him right now. A hand claps down on his shoulder and he flinches slightly before turning to find Watari standing there with the other second years on the team, Yamahata and Ishida.

“H—Hey, guys, hey Watacchi!” Shigeru says, forcing cheer.

Watari wrinkles his nose at the nickname; when they became close at the start of the year he had quietly confided to Shigeru that he hated the nickname and the way it made him feel like a little kid, and that he’d rather just be on given name terms if it came to that. Shigeru doesn’t even know why he’s using the name now. Something about the familiar camaraderie of the second years crowding around him—well, the second years minus Kyoutani, as if he’s ever _really_ counted as one of them—makes him slip into well-worn teamspeak.

“When’s the next practice match?” Yamahata asks, finally letting his hand slip from Shigeru’s arm. “You were chasing some other schools, right?”

“Yeah, man, you’re gonna put me on the team, right?” Ishida drawls, and Shigeru shoves down the urge to scream. His head is full of Kyoutani’s weird house with its smell of laundry and rice porridge, and the sparse hair on his chest and stomach that Shigeru doesn’t want to think about, and the way it felt so strange to move in him, like being on the deck of a boat.

Shigeru clears his throat and backs away from them. “I need to talk to Irihata and Mizoguchi-san about that,” he says as lightly as he can manage, feigning an apologetic shrug. “Keep training hard and we’ll see!”

Ishida groans, and Yamahata laughs and slings an arm around his neck. Way too tactile, that one. Students are spilling out of all the classrooms now, and Shigeru’s gut clenches. He needs to get away from here before Kyoutani appears, before he’s forced to acknowledge that even a second of what happened this morning was real. Because it can’t have been. That just doesn’t happen.

“Come on, Shinji,” Shigeru says, hearing the edge of desperation in his voice and praying that nobody else does. “We need to meet the others.”

“Uh, sure,” Watari says, looking a little bemused. “Who owes you money, Inoue or Yoshikawa?”

Shigeru frowns at him. “What? Neither of them, why?”

Watari just shrugs. “Whatever. Just not usually in such a hurry to get there.”

“Oh, w—well.”

“Oh, the weirdest thing happened this morning,” Watari says, thankfully ignoring Shigeru’s awkwardness. “Kyoutani called me.”

Shigeru’s heart jumps into his throat. “Oh?”

“He wanted to talk or something, but when I ran into him just now, he totally blanked me.”

“Sounds completely in character,” Shigeru says primly. “I agree, the phone call is unusual though. I’m surprised he even knows how to use one.”

Watari clicks his tongue, unimpressed. “You’re going to have to start getting along with him, you know,” he says in a low voice. “You’re captain now, you can’t just keep holding onto pointless feuds.”

Shigeru sighs as he pushes open the door to the rear schoolyard and holds it open for Watari. “It’s nothing to do with that.”

“Fine, well don’t talk shit about him at least,” Watari says, sounding bad-tempered. “He’s a teammate.”

There’s nothing much to say to that, and Shigeru just waves his hand vaguely to acknowledge that he’s listening and that he doesn’t plan to argue the point. They walk along a little further in silence, heading for the far corner of the grassy courtyard where they all usually meet up on days when it isn't raining.

“Oi, creampuff!”

Shigeru flinches, but tries hard to hide it. He isn’t sure that he manages very well. His normal poise and composure has been obliterated by half a morning spent—well, whatever the hell that had been. He was hoping he’d make it through the rest of the day without running into Kyoutani, but luck doesn’t seem to be on his side. Shigeru clutches his bag tighter and keeps walking, even though Watari pauses at his side to glance over his shoulder.

“Yahaba?”

Fuck. Why did Shigeru decide to be friends with a _nice_ person.

“I think Kyoutani is calling you.”

“No,” Shigeru hisses over his shoulder. “He’s calling for _cream puff_ , like the mannerless piece of shit he is.”

Watari reels a little, startled by the outburst, but his expression quickly hardens and he moves to catch up. “I told you, if you guys are fighting,” he murmurs, drawing level with Shigeru, “you can leave me out of it.” This said, he turns and strides off across the grass, frost crunching under his feet.

“Ah—” Shigeru says awkwardly, the sound of protest dying in his throat.

Kyoutani’s footsteps thunder up behind him, and Shigeru closes his eyes and resigns himself to an early death.

“Are you deaf or somethin’?” Kyoutani growls, scooting in front to cut off Shigeru’s escape and then rounding on him with a scowl. “Can’t you hear me yellin’ at you?”

Shigeru draws himself up and meets Kyoutani’s gaze as if by accident. “Kyouken,” he mutters, watching for the telltale eye twitch that means he’s getting a reaction. He knows that eye twitch more intimately than ever now, having seen it up close in the mirror this morning when he first got a look at his reflection. “What do you want.”

Kyoutani’s expression passes through shock, disbelief, before coming full circle back to the indignant rage of someone who can’t believe that the person in front of them is being so obtuse on purpose. “What,” Kyoutani grits out, separating the words for effect, presumably, “the hell. Was that?”

“A question, Kyouken,” Shigeru says patiently. “What. Do. You. Want.”

If he weren’t so shaken, Shigeru would take a savage delight in the way Kyoutani’s expression shifts, eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring, before he sets his shoulders and marches into Shigeru’s space, crowding him against the wall of the activities building. Shigeru’s shoulders crunch against the bricks and he gasps in a breath before realizing that Kyoutani didn’t even push him. He could have, easily. Shigeru has a little height advantage but Kyoutani is all muscle, as Shigeru knows only too well now.

“This morning,” Kyoutani says, glancing around shiftily. “Where were you?”

_Who were you, you mean_ , Shigeru thinks, narrowing his eyes. “In bed.”

Kyoutani slams his palm against the wall besides Shigeru’s head. Shigeru fervently hopes nobody will walk past; he doesn't need anyone getting the impression that Kyoutani of all people is confessing to him.

“ _Whose bed_?” Kyoutani snarls.

Shigeru wrinkles his nose and carefully lifts his hand to set his palm against Kyoutani’s chest before he gets too close. Praying that Kyoutani can't feel his hand shake, Shigeru pushes him away.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Kyoutani flushes a very unhealthy colour, and Shigeru is gripped by a momentary certainty that he's about to get punched. But Kyoutani doesn't move, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and the feeling passes.

“So we're just pretending it didn't happen,” he says reluctantly.

Shigeru catches himself about to nod and grips the strap of his school bag tightly. “Nothing happened, Kyoutani,” he says in a tight voice. “We're not friends.”

If he'd meant for that to hurt, it seems like it was a wasted effort. Kyoutani crooks his slender eyebrows slightly, the small twitch of a frown darkening his expression for a moment, but he doesn't otherwise react when Shigeru turns to walk away.

Shigeru's hands are still shaking by the time he reaches the picnic benches. Watari is there, chatting to Inoue and Yoshikawa and point blank ignoring Shigeru. The others greet him with vague hand gestures before going back to their conversation. Shigeru sits down, pulls out his bento and shivers in his coat. Not for the first time, he wonders why they’re bothering to meet out here in January. Watari and the others like to flirt with the girls away from the glare of the teachers, but Shigeru has no such excuse to be here.

The girls themselves arrive a few minutes later, Riri skipping along with a bag from the bakery, Shizu and Tora following a little way behind with their arms linked.

“Hello boys!” Riri shouts, swinging the bag into the air. Tora unhooks herself from her classmate and plops down on the bench beside Shigeru.

“Shigeru-kun,” she says pleasantly, pressing up close to him to steal his warmth.

“Tora-chan,” he greets, allowing it.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” she mutters, too low for the other boys to hear.

Shigeru nods and clucks his tongue sympathetically. “We can always run away to the library,” he says, scowling at Watari’s back as he makes a fruitless attempt at flirting with Riri.

“In a minute,” Tora murmurs, picking open her bento with a frown. “Are we still hanging out this weekend?”

“I don’t know,” he says, stealing a piece of her tofu. “Ask Sadashi.”

“Hey!” Tora snaps, slapping at his arm. “You know she never texts back.”

Shigeru just shrugs. He and Sadashi have known Umeki Tora since they were six, a friendship born of proximity thanks to their wealthy parents, maintained thanks to well-kept secrets, and long-held disdain for almost everyone else in their social circle.

“Ooh,” Riri chirps, apparently tiring of taunting Watari with scraps of her melon bread. “Tora and Shigeru-kun are awfully cosy today.”

“I’d be cosier inside,” Shigeru says, acting as if his bento is far more deserving of his attention than any of they are. “Why are we out here anyway?”

To his surprise, Riri sits down in Watari’s lap, putting her arm around his neck. “Because it’s so nice with just us!”

Shigeru wishes he could see Watari’s face right now, but the startled tension in his shoulders, and the way he can’t seem to decide where to put his hands, is telling in itself. The other boys cheer and Shizu giggles behind her gloved fingers, but Shigeru just rolls his eyes.

“He’s not a chair, Riri-san.”

Inoue cackles and reaches out to punch Watari’s shoulder affectionately. “Shinji can be a chair if he wants to.”

Shigeru snorts dismissively and snaps the lid back on his bento box. “Yeah,” he says crisply. “He can.” He gets up from the bench and pulls his school bag onto his shoulder, starting to walk back toward the school building.

“Too good for us now?” Watari calls out when he’s ten paces away.

Shigeru freezes. Watari’s voice is light, but they know each other well enough that it’s the kind of thing he would never say, not unless he was really, really pissed off. “Sorry guys,” Shigeru says in a stilted voice, raising his hand to wave. “I really have to study!”

“That’ll be the day,” Watari says, clearly meant for his ears. Everyone laughs, and Yahaba takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep walking.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Kentarou manages to ignore Yahaba's existence for the rest of the school day. It's not too difficult when they're in separate classes, there's no volley practice, and they live in totally different directions.

Still, even without Yahaba's physical presence, there are reminders of him everywhere.

On his way home after his short shift at the factory, Kentarou passes by Yue’s school out of habit. It's the same school he was in years ago, although he missed most of his final semester when their parents died. Seeing it now still brings up memories of sitting in an empty office, waiting to be told the news, but mixed with happier memories of collecting Yue from school and watching her perform in the class play during the cultural festival.

As he passes the main gate, still open for stragglers from the after school activities, he notices a little girl swinging her legs on the bench. He does a double take when he realises it's Yue.

“Hey!” he says, darting over to her. “Why are you out here alone? Where's auntie?”

Yue looks up at him reproachfully, blinking quickly. “Where have you been, nii-chan?” she asks, trying to sound cross, but he can hear her voice waver. “You said you'd pick me up.”

Kentarou frowns. “What about auntie?”

“She told _you_ to come,” Yue snaps. “I knew you weren't listening! You were horrible and you shouted at me and I didn't even do anything, and then you didn't even listen to auntie about picking me up from school!”

Her outburst makes him reel slightly, but mostly it gives him an ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is Yahaba's fault. Yue was left scared and alone and Kentarou didn't even know about it and it's all Yahaba’s stupid fault. The rest of her speech processes and his blood fizzes. Kentarou has never shouted at Yue his whole life.

“Yue,” he says, struggling to keep his voice even over the rage threatening to choke him. She looks up at his serious tone, at the use of her given name. “I can't tell you why I wasn't here, but I'm real sorry, okay? It won't happen again.”

Yue shrugs and looks away from him. Kentarou's hand shakes when he lifts it to touch her shoulder, and when he rests it there, a shudder runs down his arm and his hand jerks suddenly, making Yue flinch away from him.

“S—sorry,” he mutters.

Ever perceptive, Yue glances from his hand to the unhappy line of his mouth and looks up at him with an exaggerated frown. “Is it happening again?” she asks, her severe expression daring him to brush off the question.

Kentarou buckles. “Yeah.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and reaches for her hand. “It's okay, I can handle it. Let's go home.”

Yue holds her ground. “Is that why you shouted?”

It would be an easy out to take. And, now that he thinks about it, he may have never shouted at Yue but he's doubtless shouted in front of her, when his grip failed or his feet wouldn't walk right or one of a hundred other tiny things.

“That's not—exactly why,” he grunts. Yue slips her hand into his and he squeezes her fingers.

“It's okay, nii-chan.”

Yue clutches his hand tightly and swings their arms as they walk. It's comforting to listen while she chatters about her day, Kentarou apparently forgiven for having let her down, though it doesn't quell the ugly, sick feeling in his stomach. Part of him revels in the idea of finding Yahaba and tearing his arms off.

They're almost home when Yue asks to go to the park and play before dinner, and Kentarou is so caught up in his thoughts that when Yue stops walking, her hand dragging in his, he trips over his own feet. The ground catches him hands and knees first, his right knee crashing particularly hard against the pavement.

“Nii-chan!” Yue shouts, hurrying to his side. She tugs on his bicep until he straightens up, scowling. “I'm sorry!”

Kentarou grunts. “Wasn't your fault.” His palms are full of grit and his knee aches. He claps his hands together, wincing at the sting, brushing off the worst of the dirt before he gets his good knee beneath him and pushes himself to his feet. Yue pokes the side of his knee, avoiding the grazed skin where his school pants have ripped open.

“It's gonna bruise!” she says, wide eyed and half delighted by the prospect.

“Shoulda been wearing my kneepads, huh?”

Yue clutches his arm and grins at him, showing the two prominent gaps in her teeth. “We should get ice cream!”

Kentarou sighs and ruffles her hair. He should get an ice pack anyway, just in case his knee swells before volley practice in the morning.

“What for?” he says gruffly, even though she already knows he’s caving.

“To make you feel better!” Yue announces, dragging him by his arm. “Come on, come on!”


	2. Chapter 2

***

 

 

 

Volleyball practice the following morning is strange and subdued. Shigeru is too busy feeling relieved that he woke up in the right place, with the right face, to pay much attention to what’s going on around him. The third time he completely misses Mizoguchi or Irihata addressing him, Yamahata smacks him lightly on the back of the head.

“Ah!” Shigeru yelps, ducking out of his reach and casting him a wounded look. “What was that for?

“Head in the game, captain,” Yamahata says, giving him a significant look before glancing over at where the coaches have their heads together, casting looks at Shigeru over his shoulder as they talk quietly.

Shigeru groans. “Fuck. Sorry, I’m on it.”

Yamahata slaps him on the back and continues across the gym to round up the less committed first years. Shigeru looks the other way, to where Watari is practicing his toss with Kyoutani, while Kindaichi and Kunimi wearily attempt to receive his spikes. Shigeru finds himself watching as Kunimi tosses the ball up for Watari, Kyoutani already moving in for his spike. They’re starting to work well together, which isn’t much of a surprise; Watari has always been an incredibly flexible player despite his size, and even if he can’t wield Kyoutani as a weapon in the way that Oikawa could, he has a talent for aligning with the rhythm of the players around him.

Kyoutani jumps into the air and Shigeru watches, his mouth falling open slightly at the sight. Even in such casual practice, he’s focused and furious, slamming his hand against the ball with such force that the sound resounds throughout the gym, echoing over the ambient noise of practice. Kindaichi yelps as the volleyball flies just under his waiting arms and smacks him hard in the thigh.

“You’re getting two out of five right now, guys!” Watari yells while Kunimi ambles after the lost ball. Kindaichi is hopping on the spot, his jaw and fist clenched tight while a circle on his thigh turns red.

Shigeru looks over at Kyoutani. He’s breathing hard, his shoulders pulled up tight, and he’s staring straight at Shigeru with murder in his eyes.

When their gaze meets, Shigeru recoils slightly, blinking in surprise. Kyoutani narrows his eyes, his jaw tensing like he might be grinding his teeth. Shigeru is just wondering whether he should say something or run five kilometres in the opposite direction, when the look melts away and Kyoutani goes back to ignoring him. He responds to a question from Watari with a grunt and a nod of his head, and turns away to continue their practice.

“Yahaba.”

It's Irihata calling him, which can't be good. If it wasn't anything too serious, he would have left it to Mizoguchi to address.

Shigeru turns and jogs over to him, trying to look eager and not at all like this is the last place on earth he wants to be right now.

“Coach,” he says, trying his usual charming grin. “What's—”

“Captain,” Irihata says, placing very significant emphasis on the word. Shigeru is definitely fucked. “I need a word with you.”

Shigeru nods mutely and follows him from the gym, ignoring the curious looks he gets from the rest of the team. He fervently hopes that Kyoutani isn't watching.

“Yahaba,” Irihata says when they step out into the cold sunlight. Shigeru wishes he'd thought to grab his volleyball jacket. “You're not in trouble, stop making that face.”

“O—oh,” he says, trying to school his face into a neutral expression. He has no idea what it must have looked like before, but clearly not good.

“I know it may feel like you're just biding time, carrying things over until April,” Irihata says, speaking slowly as though he doesn't expect Shigeru to be listening. Shigeru thinks he should be offended by that. Then again, considering it took _Yamahata_ to shake him out of it, it might not be an unfair assessment. “I can see why you might feel that way, and I know that Oikawa is a tough act to follow, but this is a big chance for you.”

Shigeru frowns at him and resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself to get warm. “I’m sorry if I haven’t—”

Irihata interrupts him, waving his apology off with a small hand gesture. “You’re going to be an excellent captain, Yahaba-kun, I’m sure. I only want to say that you need to start paying attention, right now, to your team.” He fixes Shigeru with a severe look. “All of your team. It’s up to you to bring them together, to make sure that you work together as a finely tuned machine _before_ April. It will be much easier to incorporate the new first years if you already know how to use your team’s strengths to—”

“I’m sorry,” Shigeru says, flushing slightly as Irihata trails off, his face registering surprise at Shigeru's interruption. “I’m sorry, Irihata-san. It’s—incredibly flattering that everyone has so much faith in me, but—” he sighs quickly and his fingers make fists. “I am not Oikawa, I’ll never be even half the player he is, and—”

Shigeru cuts himself off, realising that he doesn’t have an end to that sentence, Irihata’s gaze on him heavy and kind.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he says, reaching out to put a hand on Shigeru’s shoulder.

The touch somehow reminds Shigeru that he’s cold, making goosebumps tear down his arms. He hides a shiver and bows his head.

“You’ve worked hard to get where you are,” Irihata goes on, and Shigeru’s stomach churns guiltily.

_No_ , he thinks. _No, I really haven’t_.

“Come on.” Irihata claps his shoulder again and Yahaba folds slightly under the impact. “Set up a practice match, I want you to play against the non-starting players. Let’s see how far they have to go.”

It takes less time than Shigeru had expected to round everyone up and organise the practice match. He gets Toyama to set for the B team, which should work out well for them as they’ve spent most of this year practicing together already. On the other hand, it means he has to work with Kyoutani.

The game goes well, to begin with. The A team take a set easily, 25 - 9, but rather than getting dejected, B team only seem to get more fired up with the loss. Ishida is playing at the top of his game as B team’s main offence, so at least he seems to be taking his own claim about making the starting line-up seriously.

Towards the end of the second set, A team are pulling ahead again at 20 - 14. Shigeru and Kyoutani have so far worked in tense silence except for Shigeru's shouts of ‘nice serve’ and ‘nice kill’, all of which have gone unacknowledged by Kyoutani.

Watari jogs onto the court, switching out with Yamahata, and he and Shigeru share a pregnant glance. Watari nods his head in Kyoutani's direction and mouths at Shigeru, ‘What's going on?’

Shigeru just shrugs and holds up his fingers behind his back to determine the play for the rest of the team. Kunimi looks as thoroughly bored as ever, and Kindaichi keeps darting his gaze anxiously between Shigeru and Kyoutani. Great. So they're really not being subtle then.

B team serve, and Shigeru is momentarily pleased to see that Ishida’s technique is improving, before his attention is stolen by the game. Watari receives and Shigeru sets to Kindaichi; Toyama just misses the block but Sato saves it, sending it up to Ishida for a spike. It's off, and Shigeru receives, sending it back to Watari who sets for Yamahata. Toyama receives this time, throwing the team off balance, and Shigeru can feel that A team will score this one. Sure enough, the next cross spike is weak—Shigeru makes a note to work on that—and his team get into position quickly, Kunimi sending Shigeru a near-perfect receive.

Shigeru bends his knees. He sees Kyoutani move out of the corner of his eye and he throws a high toss, close to the net. It's the perfect toss for Kyoutani, and Shigeru has a split second to feel pleased before Kyoutani jumps.

His shoes leave the polished floor with an abrupt squeak of rubber, and his back curves with startling elegance as he cranks his arm back to spike.

Shigeru shivers and falls forward suddenly, feeling dizzy and weightless. He blinks, overcome with a sensation like vertigo, like he’s falling.

In the space of a breath, Shigeru pitches forward and crashes against the net before slamming hard against the floor. Agony slams up through his hip, his thigh, and his right elbow. Shigeru lets out a shocked gasp and swears in a hiss of startled breath. His body hurts, all over, but more than that it feels _wrong_. It’s the same way he felt when he woke up yesterday morning. Horror courses through him.

Gritting his teeth, Shigeru puts his palm against the floor and pushes himself up a little way. He raises his head and meets his own startled gaze across the court.

Kyoutani looks back at him from behind Shigeru's eyes.

Before Shigeru can even string two thoughts together, the rest of the team surround him. He can hear Mizoguchi yelling something about a first aid kit, and he senses the presence of his team standing within arm’s reach. But none of them get close enough to touch him. He remembers a couple of weeks back, when Watari took a bad fall misjudging a dive. How the first years were at his side right away; how Kindaichi and Toyama helped him to his feet and supported him to the side of the gym so he could sit and catch his breath.

Mizoguchi shoves Kunimi and Yamahata out of the way and crouches down beside Shigeru.

“Kyoutani,” he says, leaning over him with a small frown. “You okay, kid?”

Shigeru nods, though he’s pretty sure he isn’t. His entire right side aches and his elbow feels stiff with the pain. Still gritting his teeth hard enough to hurt, he rolls forward and pushes himself to his feet. Nobody offers a hand to help him up.

“You good?” Mizoguchi asks, watching him closely as he straightens up unsteadily.

Shigeru hesitates a moment to take stock of himself. Well, of Kyoutani. The hip is going to give him a limp, he reckons, and there’s no spiking with this arm for the rest of practice. He stretches it out experimentally, wincing as he does so, but he manages to fully extend the arm and then fold his hand back up to his shoulder. He tests his weight on the right foot.

“I’m fine,” he mutters in Kyotuani’s gruff voice.

Nodding, Mizoguchi claps him on the shoulder. “Where’s that first aid kit?” he yells, then quieter, to Shigeru, “can you get to the nurse’s office? You need some ice on that.”

Shigeru wants to shrug him off, refuse to go, but he catches sight again of his own face across the court: shocked, angry, maybe upset. Right. Kyoutani may be a total asshole, but it’s not Shigeru’s place to make him suffer anymore than he has to when he gets back in this body.

“Can someone go with Kyoutani-kun?”

The rest of the team are milling back to their places now, losing interest now that they realise Kyoutani is fine and there’s no show to be had.

“Watari can take me,” Shigeru says, before he realises what’s just come out of his mouth.

He catches Watari look over at him—at _Kyoutani_ , fuck, this is confusing—but luckily Kyoutani doesn’t notice.

“Uh, sure,” Watari says slowly, clearly bewildered by this turn of events. “I can—”

“I’ll go,” Kyoutani snarls, and Shigeru suppresses a shudder at the sight of his own body coming to life before him, doing things that he absolutely is not telling it to do. Kyoutani marches it across the court and grabs his wrist.

Shigeru makes a stupid squawking sound of panic, but Kyoutani just tightens his grip. “Ky—Yahaba,” Shigeru says awkwardly. “I—I can go on my own.”

“Shut up,” Kyoutani mutters, giving him a firm tug towards the door.

It's obvious that Mizoguchi wants to stop them, but apparently even he thinks twice about calling out Kyoutani. He opens his mouth to call after them, then turns away instead and calls on Watari to take Yahaba's place as setter.

Distracted both by what's happening on the court and Kyoutani's insistent tugging, Shigeru stumbles. He yelps as his right knee gives way under him and he crashes against Kyoutani who swears viciously under his breath. Mizoguchi yells again, but before Shigeru can protest, Kyoutani is wrapping an arm around his waist and cosying up to his left side, dragging Shigeru’s arm around his neck.

“Just shut it and let’s get out of here,” he mutters, breath hot on the side of Shigeru’s face.

“Fine.”

“And stop wailing already, I don't want everyone thinking I can't take one bad fall.”

Shigeru bites his tongue, even though it may be the most words Kyoutani has ever said to him in one go and he'd _really_ like to commemorate the occasion by arguing back.

By the time they get out of the gym, Shigeru finds that he’s not as disabled by the fall as he’d feared, but when he tries to pull away, Kyoutani tightens his grip

“Just—play along, alright?” he grumbles, turning his face away slightly. “I don’t want you making that ankle any worse.”

Shigeru snorts. “Whatever. It isn’t as bad as it looks.” He sighs and tries to ignore the clench of Kyoutani’s fingers in his gym shirt, and the way he feels so clammy and gross. It’s not like he doesn’t practice hard himself, but whether Kyoutani is exerting himself harder or it’s just a funny physiological quirk, he seems to sweat more than Shigeru does in a normal practice.

Kyoutani ignores him now, leading him across the playground area to the main school building at a pace just a little too fast for Shigeru to keep up comfortably. He decides not to correct Kyoutani about the ankle thing; he’ll find out soon enough that it’s really his hip that hurts.

Fear suddenly paralyses Shigeru and he stumbles again. He’s assuming that they _will_ switch back again. What if this keeps happening? What if they switch and get stuck that way?

“Oi,” Kyoutani snaps. “Be careful with my body, you've already messed it up enough.”

“ _I've_ messed it up?” Shigeru says in disbelief. “What the—you're the one who jumped into the net, you stupid shit! It's not my fault we switched right when you were about to collide with it!”

Kyoutani scowls, which is kind of horrifying. Shigeru feels like he's having an argument with his evil twin. “I wouldn't have hit the net,” he says angrily. “You panicked, that’s why you fell. Don't you even know how to land on your feet?”

“Says the idiot who can't even stay in the right place on the court!” Shigeru practically shrieks. “Or have you forgotten how Karasuno kicked our asses last semester because you can't stop being a selfish prick even in the middle of a match?”

Kyoutani reels back, his expression falling slack with shock, and then flickering quickly through hurt and annoyance. They're expressions that Shigeru hasn't really seen on his own face, and it's strange to watch. But then Kyoutani takes a deliberate step away from him, and whatever strangeness he feels is overshadowed by the dawning horror of what he's just done.

“Kyoutani—”

“Let's go,” Kyoutani says quietly. He moves in again after a moment and gingerly puts his arm around Shigeru's waist, keeping several centimetres of distance between them this time.

Shigeru is surprised that Kyoutani doesn't just walk away, but this is his body after all. Presumably he wants to make sure Shigeru takes care of it, no more. He even slows his pace from before, though he remains silent. If it's possible, he seems even more taciturn than he did before they started shouting at one another. Angry about the fall no doubt. Anticipating the discomfort of the damage, if—when—they switch back.

Kyoutani leaves him at the door to the nurse's office and stalks away again in silence. Shigeru leans against the door and watches his own shoulders draw up tight by his ears as Kyoutani walks away from him.

“Wait,” he calls out.

If possible, Kyoutani tenses even more. He stops and turns slowly to look over his shoulder.

Shigeru freezes. An apology sits on the end of his tongue, but he can't seem to get it out. “I—”

A shivery feeling passes over him and Shigeru blinks and finds himself in his own body. He almost falls over at the sudden change, at the sudden lack of pain. Down the hall, Kyoutani draws in a sharp breath, his arm going out to brace himself against the wall.

Shigeru takes half a step towards him, but Kyoutani looks up, eyes narrowed and his mouth taut with pain. “Still wanna pretend nothing's happening here, cream puff?” he growls.

For a few seconds, Shigeru tries to force out the apology, but his tongue feels heavy and useless in his mouth.

“Hey,” Kyoutani adds, his voice tight now with the pain. “Yell at my sister again, I'll kill you.”

Shigeru turns on his heel and runs all the way back to the gym.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 The nurse keeps Kentarou in the infirmary for the first hour of classes after Yahaba's fall, and forbids him from going to afternoon practice. He lies there, bored out of his mind for the remaining thirty minutes of practice, while a bag of ice slowly melts against his bruised hip and soaks into his practice shorts.

Watari arrives just before classes start with Kentarou's clothes and school bag. He looks awkward and guilty, and the nurse fusses over him until she finds out he’s here for Kentarou.

“Hey, man,” he mutters, setting Kentarou's things down on a chair and then hovering awkwardly at the side of the bed. “Um, so I feel bad that we haven't talked a lot—”

_Oh, god,_ Kentarou thinks. _He's trying to be my friend._ It's tough not to groan but he manages to hold it in; Kentarou just didn't ask for this. He's been perfectly content maintaining a quiet distance from the rest of the team for almost two years, and nobody seemed to mind until now.

“I just—” Watari goes on in a halting voice, “I wanted to say that you're one of us, you know? You'll always be part of the team, and that means that—well, I'm here, if you need anything.”

Kyoutani narrows his eyes. It's obvious how much it's costing Watari to say even this much; gifted, hard-working student and talented volleyball player grudgingly tries to befriend stupid, delinquent fuck-up. It’s like a movie. A shitty one.

“Like what,” Kyoutani replies tonelessly.

Watari replies with an awkward shrug. “I don't know. You asked for me to bring you to the nurse, I figured maybe you wanted to talk?”

Kyoutani grits his teeth. _Fuck Yahaba._ He shakes his head tightly.

Watari watches him for a few moments longer before sighing. “Okay, well. If you want to talk, or—or whatever. I'll be around.”

Great, so now he's got to avoid Watari as well.

“Hey,” he says as Watari turns to leave. His voice comes out harsher than he meant it to and Watari looks a little worried when he turns back. “Tell coach I'm not coming later.”

Watari glances at the ice pack pressed snug against Kentarou's hip. “Oh, yeah, of course.” He attempts a smile, and even Kentarou can tell it's weak compared to way he smiles at the rest of the team, but it's something. “Rest up, okay?”

It should feel good, missing practice, but as Kentarou walks home via Yue’s school, trying to hide the slight limp in his step, he just feels guilty. He’d promised, after the match against Karasuno, that he wouldn’t skip out on practice again, and he’s kept that promise, more or less. The more he thinks about it, the more certain he is that he should be there. It’s just a bruise anyway, and he almost turns back when he gets to the train station, but then he remembers Yahaba.

Maybe it’s worth it, this once, to avoid having to look at Yahaba.

 

 

Mizoguchi stalks into the clubroom the next morning just as everyone is getting changed. He takes one look at Kentarou’s hip, which is black and blue from the waistband of his underwear to the middle of his thigh, and tells him to sit out.

Kentarou’s mouth drops open. “But—”

“You can sit with me and watch the first years,” Mizoguchi says, not brooking the slightest protest. “We’re going to run intensive drills from now until the new school year to work on everyone’s weak spots, and that means we need to know what they are.”

Sitting out for the hour of practice sucks, really. But almost worse than sitting there on the bench, his leg aching and his toes twitching in his gym shoes with the urge to get up and run and jump—worse than that, is the moment when Mizoguchi hands him the clipboard and tells him to write down all the first years and give them a rating out of five for serving, spiking, blocking and receiving.

Kentarou doesn’t say anything, but Mizoguchi reads his expression easily enough. “I know you’re not captain,” he says, putting his hand on Kentarou’s shoulder for a moment, a gesture so surprising that Kentarou almost forgets to listen to the rest of the speech. “But I also know you’re gunning to be Seijou’s ace next year, and whether you’re captain, vice-captain, or a pinch server, I want you to know everything about your team.” Kentarou blinks at him, and Mizoguchi sighs. “It’s no secret that you and Oikawa didn’t exactly get on, but I’m sure you can accept he held this team together like concrete. Yahaba’s going to have a tough time following that, and he needs you on his team.”

The mention of Yahaba’s name makes Kentarou’s lip curl, but he tries to suppress it, because Mizoguchi is a good coach, and doesn’t let anyone slack off.

“Fine,” he says with a curt nod.

Mizoguchi pats his shoulder again, looking pleased, but not annoyingly so. “Fine.”

Analysing the first years’ technique is actually kind of fun, once he forces himself to stop looking longingly out at the courts. Kentarou doesn’t really get the theory, and he hates to spend time _talking_ about playing when he could be running and jumping and diving, learning to play better and better by pushing himself and sweating and bleeding until he gets there. But there’s something fulfilling about watching his underclassmen play with the aim of helping them to improve. It reminds him, somehow, of being home with Yue, of teaching her to cook and clean, or when he taught her how to ride her bike.

Kentarou shifts his weight on the bench, wincing at the pressure on his bruises, and picks up the clipboard and pen.

Toyama’s tosses look fine, as far as he can tell, but his blocking and receiving both need a lot of work. He can throw a jump serve, just about. Kentarou rates him two out five for blocking and receiving, and three for serving.

Yamahata walks over to fetch his water bottle while Kentarou is scribbling. The bottle is down by Kyoutani’s feet, and Yamahata leans over him, dripping sweat on Kentarou’s legs as he ducks down to grab it.

“Hey,” Kentarou mutters in a tight voice. He scowls up at Yamahata, who frowns a little before stepping back.

“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Too close? Sorry, I never know unless someone tells me.”

Kentarou shrugs, going back to his work while Yamahata starts gulping down water. But he’s back a moment later, leaning over Kentarou’s work again.

“Kyouken,” he says slowly, and Kentarou’s fist tightens around the pen. Yamahata reaches down and points at the page. “That’s not how you spell ‘receiving’.”

“Got it,” Kentarou mutters, turning away and scribbling over the top of the word.

“Wait, you wrote my name as Yamaha, and Toyama is wrong—jeez, your kanji are really messy, huh?”

Kentarou snarls at him. “I said I’ve _got it_.”

Yamahata draws back slowly. “Oh, okay then. I just thought you wouldn’t wanna hand it in with mistakes on it, you know?” He smiles, easy and clueless. “That would look kind of dumb—”

Before he can finish the sentence, Kentarou gets awkwardly to his feet, his leg a little stiff from sitting so long, and stalks away.

 

 

Kentarou is eating lunch by himself that day when someone sets a lunch tray down on the other side of the table. He doesn’t bother looking up; in a minute, surely, they’ll realise they picked the wrong table and leave again. It’s not as if he _never_ talks to anyone, but Isoda is off sick and Nagumo has detention. He wouldn’t really call them _friends_ , but they talk, or kick around a football when the weather is on their side.

“Kyoutani-kun?”

Well, that makes a difference from _Kyouken-chan_ , aka the usual bullshit he’s used to hearing yelled out in the hallway, and thank you so much Oikawa for popularising _that_ charming testament to assholery.

He looks up, and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees who’s chosen to join him. “Eh—Iwaizumi-senpai!”

Iwaizumi smiles crookedly and gestures at the seat that he's set his food next to. “Can I sit here?”

Kentarou nods dumbly, and watches as Iwaizumi calmly swings his legs over the bench and settles down opposite him.

“How're you doing?”

The question is directed at him, he realises, because there's nobody else within hearing distance. He raises his eyes from his curry again and meets Iwaizumi’s calm, friendly gaze. It makes something inside him melt a little, a year of suppressed feelings bubbling up to the surface.

The previous third years would ignore him, or say he was too dumb to learn plays just because he could never remember their signals properly, but Iwaizumi always took the time to explain things to him, and never gave him extra cleanup duty like his upperclassmen had. It's been two months since Iwaizumi, Oikawa and the others officially left the team to focus on their studies, and although they haven't really talked since, Iwaizumi always smiles or greets him in the hallways.

Kentarou wishes he could find more reasons to challenge Iwaizumi, missing the excuse to be around him, and his rare proud smile when Kentarou comes close to beating him.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says again, his brow furrowing in concern. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Kentarou mutters, picking up a mouthful of food and wolfing it down.

Iwaizumi leans in a little, and Kentarou forces himself not to wince. He's spent long enough trying not to think about how good Iwaizumi smells or how he could hold Kentarou down to kiss him, or—

“I heard that you got hurt in practice yesterday.”

Kentarou’s eyes snap up to meet Iwaizumi's, but he doesn't look angry or amused, just quietly concerned.

“It's fine,” he mutters.

Iwaizumi frowns. “You can't blame yourself when your body does things out of your control.” He sighs, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Did you know that Oikawa overtrained when he was younger?”

Kentarou shrugs. Iwaizumi laughs at him, but kindly.

“Oikawa’s perfected the art of pissing people off, doesn’t exactly endear himself.”

_He did to you,_ Kentarou thinks, but could never say out loud.

“Anyway, it's a little different because the idiot did it to himself, but it means he has to listen to his body. Do you see what I’m saying? You can't just go on endlessly forcing it to do something it can't do.” Iwaizumi must see Kentarou's expression drop, because he smiles again gently before continuing. “And what your body can do isn't always the same, okay? Some days it's better than others, and you've just gotta roll with it.”

Kentarou pushes himself back from the table with both hands and draws in a long, deep breath that he lets out again as a sigh. “Yeah,” he says, grudgingly. “How’d you know I got hurt anyway?”

Iwaizumi grins at him. “I know everything,” he says, giving Kentarou an exaggerated wink.

For a moment, Kentarou feels as if he really does. He thinks that he could tell Iwaizumi about what’s happening with Yahaba and somehow he would understand, or know what to do.

“Also, Kindaichi’s a gossip.”

“Right.”

Iwaizumi’s still grinning at him, but he leans in slightly, his expression turning more serious. “Kyoutani, you know you can talk to me, about anything.”

Kentarou holds Iwaizumi’s gaze for several moments, braving the kind look in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, looking away again. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Iwaizumi makes a thoughtful sound. “You have a little sister, right?” Kentarou nods. “Would you ever think about coaching?”

Kentarou glances up at him. From anyone else, he would assume it’s a joke, a taunt. He doesn’t _think_ Iwaizumi would. “Coach who?”

“Oikawa coaches a kids’ volleyball class on Mondays, after school. I think you’d be good at it.”

“Sure,” Kentarou mutters with a quiet snort.

Iwaizumi’s knee knocks into Kentarou’s and he almost chokes on his rice. “I mean it,” Iwaizumi says sternly. “I’ve seen you with the first years, you’re good with them. You should come along one week. My brother goes, you can come with us.”

“I have to work,” Kentarou says, grimacing. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no worries. The offer’s open anytime.”

“Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa’s voice echoes across the cafeteria and Kentarou winces. Iwaizumi heaves a sigh and pushes his tray away, sitting back in his seat.

“Yeah!” he calls out in a weary tone, although there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He leans in again and clasps his hand on Kentarou’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay? If you ever need to talk…”

Kentarou nods.

 

 

Kentarou is struggling through his English homework on Saturday afternoon when Yue bursts into the room like a hurricane. 

“Nii-chan!” she yells, sing-songing as she dances over to him. “We’re going swimming! Nii-chan, nii-chan!”

“Augh, _what_?” he growls.

Yue stops short at his harsh tone of voice. “I—”

“I’m _busy_ , Yue.”

Yue stares at him. 

“Yue-chan! Time to go!” Aunt Chika hurries in, her own bag and Yue’s tucked under one arm. She flaps her free hand at Yue. “Come on, let’s get moving!

“Sorry,” Kentarou says, as Yue is herded out of the door. Aunt Chika pauses for a moment to ruffle his hair, and then they’re gone. 

Kentarou groans and drops his face into his homework. The words don’t make any more sense with his cheek mashed against them, but they don’t make any less sense, either. English really isn’t his strong suit. With a sigh, he gets up from the low table. Maybe some tea will help.

As soon as he gets to his feet, the world shivers around him.

Kentarou blinks away the rush of dizziness and finds himself in a vaguely familiar room. Yahaba’s family’s apartment is neat and modern, nothing like his own traditional home with its creaky floorboards and stiff doors. He’s lying on his stomach on the floor, vaguely uncomfortable but not enough to have bothered moving just yet. Kentarou pushes himself up with a frown.

“Well, what about Shigeru?”

His shoulders freeze. He turns his head, amazed that he somehow missed Yahaba’s sister sitting right there on the couch. There’s another girl beside her. She’s vaguely familiar, like perhaps he’s seen her in the hallway at school; she’s pretty but snooty-looking, like Yahaba himself. 

“What _about_ Shigeru?” he says crossly.

The two girls exchange a conspiratorial look that sets his teeth on edge. He’s never really understood girls, except for Yue, and perhaps by extension her friends. Yue likes cute manga, giant robots, the colour pink. Girls his own age are a mystery.

“You have to tell us more about who you like!” says the girl that Kentarou maybe-sort-of recognises. 

“Don’t tease him, Tora,” says Yahaba’s sister, sliding down in her seat and reaching out with her foot to poke him in the stomach. He recoils in horror and her face registers surprise for a moment, before laughter overtakes her. Her laugh is a lot like Yahaba’s. It’s very...distracting. “Fine, fine,” she says, still clutching at her stomach to hold in her giggles. “Besides, I already know who you like.”

Tora pops up in her seat, grinning excitedly. “Oh my god, who?” she gasps, leaning toward him. “Is it someone at school? Someone on the volleyball team?”

Kentarou is surprised for a moment. Until recently Yahaba never seemed particularly fired up about volleyball, not that Kentarou was particularly paying attention. Still, he would’ve guessed that Yahaba would be into vapid, air-headed rich girls, the kind with plenty of time to fawn over his pretty face, rather than someone athletic. He opens his mouth, ready to make some excuse and escape to the bathroom, when a thought strikes him and his mouth shuts again with a click as his teeth snap together. Seijou doesn’t have a girls volleyball team anymore. 

“Wait, what—”

“No, no, it’s nobody at school,” Sadashi says, waving her hand dismissively. 

Tora bounces in her seat, looking between Sadashi’s arch expression and Kentarou’s, no doubt, stunned one.

“Well?” she demands, settling her attention on Kentarou. “Shigeru! I cannot believe you’re holding out on me!” 

“I—I—”

“I can’t believe!” she says again, while Sadashi giggles. “After last semester when I listened to you talk for _hours_ about that guy you liked from that other school.”

Sadashi claps her hands. “Oh my god, you’re right, I forgot about that guy! The volleyball guy, right?”

Stupidly, even though it’s _nothing_ to do with him, Kentarou feels his cheeks get hot. On the one hand, Yahaba being gay explains a _lot_. On the other hand, Kentarou has never stumbled across another person he already knows that doesn’t like girls _that way_. Of all the people in his class, everyone at Aoba Jousai, all the kids he’s had passing acquaintances with...it just _had_ to be Yahaba. Kentarou doesn’t know who he’s more embarrassed for right now; himself or Yahaba.

“Aw, come on,” Sadashi says, leaning over to poke him with her foot again. Kentarou tries not to flinch, reminding himself that they’re brother and sister, they’re _twins_. It’s not really a stranger touching him, it’s just like with Yue or Aunt Chika. 

“Shigeru,” Tora says, grinning. “You’re blushing _so hard_.”

Kentarou scowls and replies instinctively. “Shut up.”

The girls shriek with laughter, Sadashi composing herself first this time. “Okay, okay!” she says loudly, raising her arms for quiet. “If Shi-chan won’t say it, I will.”

“No—” Kentarou says quickly, desperately not wanting to hear this.

“It _is_ someone at school, sort of!”

Kentarou freezes. He should leave the room, right now. He already knows too much. Yet, somehow, he can’t move. 

“It’s the prep school teacher! He and Kichiro are friends!”

Tora yells and Kentarou’s gut twists in strange, unpleasant ways. He can picture Yahaba, sitting up straight in the middle of the front row, paying attention for once in his life. 

The girls are still laughing, but Kentarou just feels kind of sick. He should’ve walked straight out of the room the first chance he got, because he cannot un-know this. Worse than knowing it, however, is that Yahaba is going to know that Kentarou found out his secret. Multiple secrets, in fact. The responsibility of knowing them and keeping them already feels heavy on his shoulders. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” he mumbles, standing gracefully, hating and relishing the way Yahaba’s body moves so easily and neatly where he tells it to go.

The girls call after him and try to make him stay, but Kentarou brushes them off, intent on escape. He can feel panic clawing at the inside of his chest, half torn up by the idea of someone finding out about him the same way, and half dreading Yahaba’s reaction when he finds out that Kentarou knows.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely and talented [chromo](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com) has posted two incredible pieces of fanart to accompany this story.
> 
> You can find them [here](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com/post/149719701641/yahaba-looks-if-anything-even-more-shocked) and [here](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com/post/149760770476/kyoutani-and-yahaba-are-not-friends-which-only)! Please take a look and give chromo some love for her hard work!

***

 

 

 

“Yahaba-kun!” Tora yells as she hurries over to join him at lunchtime on Tuesday. She’s surprisingly energetic for the start of the school week, but seeing as Monday was Foundation Day and there was no school, she’s probably more rested than usual.

Tora practically trips over Watari in her hurry, and he gives Shigeru a quick glance, mouth twitching. The two exchange the briefest grin before Watari’s attention is stolen away by Riri again. Shigeru tries not to roll his eyes. He just hopes she gets Watari chocolate for Valentine’s, after messing him about so much.

“Yahaba!” Tora says again, tripping to Shigeru’s side and grabbing his arm. “We need to _talk_.”

Riri looks around, her hand poised halfway to Watari’s mouth with a piece of bread pinched between her fingers. “Ooh, secret rendezvous?” she says, looking between them. “How romantic, Tora-chan!”

Shigeru does roll his eyes this time. “You know he’s not a pet, right?” Shigeru says, nodding at Watari. “You don’t need to feed him to get him to follow you around.”

“ _He_ is sitting right here,” Watari says, sounding a little indignant but mostly amused. He looks over to where Tora is dragging Shigeru up from the bench by his coat sleeve and his expression wrinkles slightly. “Have fun?”

“Tempting as it is to stay out here until my nuts freeze off,” Shigeru says, picking up his bag. “I think I prefer a secret rendezvous.”

Tora drags him off to the Home Ec classroom, which is where her fashion club or something meets, but only on Wednesday and Friday. A couple of first years are gossiping in a corner, but they hurry out when they see Shigeru and Tora come in.

“There,” Tora says, turning around and spreading her arms proudly. “How’s this for a secret rendezvous?”

Shigeru smirks at her. “Good enough, so what is it?”

Tora nods and hops up onto the edge of a table. “Okay so Sadashi and I were thinking, your brother is supposed to visit next weekend, right? For that stupid soiree your parents are having?”

Shigeru blinks at her. “Uh, I guess?”

“Right,” Tora says, starting to grin in a very terrifying way. “Well, why don’t you get him to invite Uemura-san?”

“Why would I do that?” he asks, his tone playful.

Tora rolls her eyes and punches him in the shoulder. “Are you still playing coy? Because you _love_ him, obviously.”

Shigeru sniggers, but he remembers that he’s never mentioned his crush to Tora. Sadashi is the only one that knows. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

“Um, you were there, hello? We talked about it on Saturday?”

“No, we—”

Realisation hits him hard and Shigeru freezes. He knows that he would remember telling Tora about this, which can only mean one thing.

“Sadashi was the one who actually said it though, right?” he asks slowly.

Tora rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to _tell anyone_ , I don’t know why you’re being so coy about it. You were weird on Saturday too.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, a little vague but unable to think past the furious panic tearing through him. He backs away from Tora, his hand fumbling at the strap of his bag. “I—just remembered, I need to talk to Coach, text me later okay?”

“Aw, Shigeru,” Tora whines.

“Later!” he promises, ducking through the doorway with a wave. He makes it as far as the boys’ bathroom along the hall and slams himself into a cubicle so he can have a breakdown in peace. His shoulders hit the back of the door and he slumps against it, breathing hard.

Kyoutani knows. _Kyoutani knows_.

Shigeru is very conscious, suddenly, of how _foolish_ he’s been. He should have kept more to himself, or been more convincing, or gone along with it when everyone teases he and Tora about their relationship.

"Fuck that," he mutters out loud, feeling a flush run up the back of his neck. This wasn't his fault—this wasn't even Sadashi's fault. If it wasn't for Kyoutani, hanging around where he isn't wanted and doesn't belong, Shigeru wouldn't have to worry about his secret getting out. Kyoutani doesn't exactly seem like the gossiping type, but on the other hand, Shigeru wouldn't put it past Kyoutani to go around spreading rumours about him out of spite. Perhaps that's just because it's exactly what _he_ would do, but it doesn't seem out of the realm of possibility.

Shigeru straightens up, hand on the door lock before he realises that he has no idea what to do, or say, even if he could find Kyoutani right now. His thoughts are jumbled; mixed up sensations of betrayal, anger, terror. He wants to find Kyoutani and beg him not to tell, but at the same time wants to threaten or blackmail him into silence forever. He tries to think what he's learned about Kyoutani this past week, if there's anything he could use against him.

Kyoutani is stupid, but that would surprise nobody. He's in the bottom class, after all, and maybe the reason he never listens to instructions properly is that he's simply too dumb to process them. There's his little sister, though Shigeru can't think of anything reprehensible there, and besides, bringing Yue into his feud seems excessive even for him. Even for lying, backstabbing scum like Kyoutani.

 _Whatever_ , Shigeru thinks, he can work it out in class this afternoon, then he'll confront Kyoutani after practice. He can just wait until everyone has left and then warn the guy to keep his mouth shut and mind his own business.

 

 

Practice itself is hell that afternoon. Mizoguchi doesn't make them play any sets which is a small miracle; Shigeru is too distracted to focus for longer than a couple of drills, and if he had to toss to Kyoutani right now, he'd probably just hit the ball right at his face. Kyoutani, for his part, pays Shigeru as much attention as he ever does. That is to say, next to none. It's both a relief and completely galling, as usual. Daydreaming through his afternoon English and Maths lessons, Shigeru didn't manage to come up with any plan more coherent than _Tell Kyoutani to back off and keep his mouth shut_ , but it worked for him before, so he isn't too concerned.

The trouble is that Kyoutani is more conscientious than usual this practice. He stays to talk to Mizoguchi while the first years start clean up, then he goes over to help Kunimi and Toyama take down the net, apparently unaware of the look of frozen terror on Toyama's face. It means that by the time Kyoutani gets to the clubroom, everyone else is right in the middle of changing. Usually he changes and hurries out quickly to get to his part time job, and Shigeru curses his sudden dedication when he realises that he's going to have to call him out right now in front of everyone.

“Kyouken, stay behind for a minute.”

Even standing several feet away, Shigeru can see the way Kyoutani's shoulders snap up to his ears, tension twanging through his upper body like a plucked guitar string.

“I have work, _Captain_ ,” he says in a voice that strikes Shigeru as sneering and disrespectful. Pretty par for the course from Kyoutani, but irritating nonetheless in front of their teammates.

“It will take two minutes,” Shigeru says, his tone pleasantly icy. “And it's important to the team, so stay behind, or sit out for good.”

While he speaks, the first years changing near them subtly draw away, hushing their conversations and turning their focus on their gym bags.

Kyoutani turns to look at him, his eyes narrowed. To Shigeru's surprise he realises that he can read fear there alongside the anger, but he doesn't have time to consider what it means because Kyoutani is already snarling at him.

“I said I'm _busy_ ,” he snaps, advancing on Shigeru by half a step.

Kindaichi and Toyama, both clad in only their underwear, grab their bags and hurry out of the clubroom. Kunimi follows at a more sedate pace, languidly pulling on a t-shirt and yawning as he crosses behind Kyoutani with a disinterested glance.

“Yahaba,” Watari says, tugging on the ends of the towel he's wrapped around his neck. “Maybe—”

“It's important,” Shigeru says, keeping his eyes fixed on Kyoutani's idiot face as he takes a few steps closer. Shigeru is the one with the power here, he knows it, and he won't let himself be intimidated by a waste of space like Kyoutani.

Watari eyes them for a moment longer before giving up with a shrug. He rolls the towel and shoves it in his gym bag, gesturing for Ishida and Yamahata to get a move on.

Kyoutani turns away as well, ripping off his practice t-shirt angrily and stuffing it into his scuffed bag. Shigeru watches the rest of the remaining first years make a break for it and sets his hands on his hips with a scowl.

“Are you fucking deaf,” he says, low and nasty, “or were you dropped on your head as a baby, hmm? I'm fucking talking to you, Kyouken-chan!”

Kyoutani whips around so fast that Shigeru barely has time to dodge before his hands are on him. But rather than grab him, or hit him, Kyoutani just places his hands against Shigeru's chest and shoves him hard.

Shigeru staggers backwards, but manages to keep his feet.

Watari starts towards him. “Shigeru—”

“I'm fine.”

“Hey—”

Shigeru scowls at him. “Get out, all of you.”

Watari flinches back, and his expression washes over with deliberate disinterest. “Fine,” he mutters, reaching for his bag. “Just kill each other if that's what you want.”

Shigeru waits until they've gone, ignoring Ishida and Yamahata’s worried backward glances, before he rounds on Kyoutani again.

“Kyou—”

“The hell is your problem with me?” Kyoutani snaps, speaking over him. He's still shirtless, a clean t-shirt slowly twisting out of shape where it's clenched between his hands. Shigeru's eyes fall momentarily to his stomach, where the tension in his body makes his abdominal muscles stands out in sharp relief. Fine dark hair forms an uneven path down the centre of his chest, turning coarse below his bellybutton. It makes Shigeru feel like he's being baited; he draws his eyes away from Kyoutani's waistband to scowl at him when he keeps yelling.“You told me to stop skipping practice, to start playing with the team, I _did_ those things. Maybe this whole switching thing is your fault, because you won't stop riding my ass!”

Shigeru flushes with shame and rage, his whole body running through with a furious hot shiver. “What did you just say?” he says in a low, hoarse voice. It's almost a whisper, his voice is shaking so hard.

Kyoutani narrows his eyes. “You heard me,” he snarls.

Shigeru can feel his hands trembling, but it doesn't stop him from surging forward and slamming Kyoutani back against the lockers by his shoulder. Kyoutani hisses a little on impact but doesn't say anything, just continues to glare at him.

“You fucking piece of shit,” he growls. “Next time we switch, you fucking get up and walk straight to the bathroom and don't talk to _anyone_.”

Kyoutani's eyes widen for a second, surprise and comprehension filling his gaze. “This is about what your sister said on Saturday?”

Shigeru feels himself flush harder and he tightens his grip on Kyoutani's shoulder, pressing all his weight there. “If you tell anyone, I'll fucking _ruin you_.”

There's a moment where they just study one another, furious and anxious, then Kyoutani explodes, bringing his arms up in a rush and knocking Shigeru away from him again. One fist catches him in the jaw, making his teeth snap down on his tongue.

“Ah—f—fuck—”

“ _I'm_ the piece of shit?” Kyoutani yells at him. “You don't know _anything_!”

Shigeru straightens up, running his tongue around his mouth. There's blood on his tongue. Kyoutani is breathing hard, his chest heaving. Shigeru takes a deep breath, and then launches himself at Kyoutani. They slam back into the lockers again, Kyoutani hitting them with a groan that makes Shigeru crow inwardly. Then Kyoutani gets a leg under his and knocks him back against the floor, Shigeru's grasp bringing Kyoutani down on top.

They struggle together, Shigeru trying to wriggle free, but Kyoutani is stronger.

“I—wouldn't have—fuckin—told anyone—” he snarls in between quick, labored breaths, trying to grab Shigeru's arms and pin them down. Shigeru wrenches one free and elbows Kyoutani in the face in the process. Blood spurts from his nose, streaking bright red over his mouth.

“It's my life!” Shigeru screams at Kyoutani, shoving at him while Kyoutani puts a hand over his streaming nose with a groan. Shigeru keeps going, his voice broken up as he struggles. “Get _out_ of my—life—you shit-for-brains piece—of— dirt!”

Kyoutani yells and makes another grab for Shigeru’s wrists, succeeding this time in pinning them against the floor above his head. The rest of his weight rolls onto Shigeru's hips, holding him in place—in fact, to add insult to injury, Kyoutani is pretty much sitting right on his dick. It feels like another taunt.

“Don't call me that!” Kyoutani hisses, leaning over him. Blood drips from his nose onto Shigeru's chin and neck. “Stop fucking calling me that shit—I didn't ask for this, I don't wanna be stuck with you either, you're a selfish prick—”

Shigeru roars and bucks his hips up, trying to dislodge Kyoutani. It doesn't work.

“What do you want?” he shrieks, hearing the hysteria in his voice but too furious to care. “Great, you know all about me now, Kyouken! Secret’s out, Yahaba Shigeru likes dick—are you fucking happy yet?”

“I don't care!” Kyoutani screams. His grip is bruising, grinding together the bones of Shigeru’s wrist, short nails cutting into his skin. “You’re not the only person who's _different_.”

“Aww, are you a special snowflake too, Class One?”

Kyoutani’s face gets even redder. “You shut your mouth, pretty boy— _don’t_ do my homework for me, ever.”

“Why, are you just _that_ desperate to work at your shitty little part time job forever?” Shigeru croons, feeling more confident now that he’s got Kyoutani on the defensive.

“I’ll shut it for you,” Kyoutani growls, leaning close and baring his teeth in a snarl.

Shigeru is tempted to spit in his face. “With what, your mouth?” he says, lip curling in a sneer.

Kyoutani reels back, his face twisting with distaste. He’s so surprised, apparently, that he forgets to keep his hold on Shigeru’s wrists. “I would, but you’d probably enjoy it,” he mutters.

“You—you disgusting little—” Shigeru’s vision hazes for a moment as rage fills him up again from head to toe, more completely than before, leaving him quaking in its aftermath. He flips them over before he can even plan to do it, slamming Kyoutani’s shoulders against the floor. Shigeru draws his arm back and hits him across the face. It’s more of a slap than a punch, but his hand cracks against Kyoutani’s skin with a pleasing sound, and he sees blood from Kyoutani’s already-leaking nose spatter across the floor.

Kyoutani coughs, his body convulsing with the moment. Straddling his stomach, Shigeru feels the muscles contract beneath his thighs, and Kyoutani’s hips jerk up against his back. For one brief, confusing moment, Shigeru registers the press of Kyoutani’s dick against his ass. He has a second or two, just long enough to think _what the hell_ and to wonder if Kyoutani really would have kissed him, when the fight is cut short.

The clubroom door slams open behind them and Shigeru is pulled away by two strong arms hooked under his armpits. He curses and flails his legs for a moment before he gets his feet under him.

“Stand up, come on,” someone growls in his ear. It’s Iwaizumi. He cuffs Shigeru on the back of the head, and Shigeru puts his hand up to the spot just as he’s pushed to one side.

To Shigeru’s disgust, Iwaizumi crouches down beside Kyoutani, who’s curled up on himself like an insect. Shigeru can’t help the uncharitable thought that Kyoutani’s probably feigning more damage than he really sustained; failing that, hiding his fucking _boner_.

The thought of it sends a shudder down Shigeru’s spine. Was it because of him, or does Kyoutani just get off on fighting?

“Shigeru.”

He turns, and finds Watari standing just inside the clubroom door.

“Oh,” Shigeru says. Iwaizumi’s presence now makes sense. He must have stayed late at school for some reason.

“Get your stuff,” Watari says, his voice flat and unaffected. He glances briefly at Kyoutani, sitting up now with his head bent between his knees while Iwaizumi gently prods at his face with a towel. “And apologise.”

Shigeru’s back stiffens. Watari’s face is deadly serious, and Shigeru knows with absolute certainty that he’ll do it; he’s defied Watari enough already to get himself booted from this friendship forever, and continuing to behave like an asshole in front of his senpai is, frankly, suicide.

Shigeru licks his bottom lip, feeling a split there and tasting blood in his mouth.

“Kyouken-chan,” he says airily. “Sorry for losing my temper.” He turns around to grab his bag but Watari snatches it away and shakes his head. Shigeru groans. “And,” he mutters, turning back to Kyoutani, “I’m sorry for hitting you.”

There’s a long pause. Shigeru doesn’t expect Kyoutani to even listen, let alone acknowledge him, but just as he huffs and starts to turn away, Kyoutani reaches up one grubby, blood-smeared hand.

Shigeru hesitates.

“Shake his goddamn hand,” Watari says in a low, dangerous voice.

Shigeru shakes Kyoutani’s hand. It’s less of a shake and more a brief, reluctant clutch of their fingers, but he does it, wiping his hand on his sweatpants as soon as he pulls it away. He sees Kyoutani do the same. Iwaizumi mutters something in Kyoutani’s ear and then he gets to his feet, slowly folding his arms. Shigeru says a silent prayer.

“I’m not going to ask what this is about,” Iwaizumi says, looking at Shigeru and then Watari. “One, I don’t care, and two, it’s irrelevant. You can't play a good game of volleyball like this, and that's all that matters. Whatever your problem is with each other, sort it out. If you don't, I’ll talk to Irihata-san.”

“Yes, senpai,” Watari says, as if to prompt Shigeru.

“Yes, Iwaizumi-senpai,” Shigeru says, trembling now that the adrenaline is starting to drain from his system.

“Yes senpai,” Kyoutani mutters thickly.

Iwaizumi stares at each of them. “Good.” He nods at Shigeru and Watari. “Get out of here and get cleaned up, I’ll lock up for you.”

 

 

After thanking Iwaizumi, Shigeru and Watari make themselves scarce. Shigeru wants to head straight home, but Watari herds him into the bathroom first to wipe the blood off his face.

“My parents won’t even be home,” Shigeru complains when Watari wets some paper towels and starts scrubbing at his cheek with them.

Watari snorts. “Sure, and you’re just gonna get on the train looking like you’ve been living in a bin. And I’m sure Sadashi wouldn’t be freaked out _at all_ if you walked in like this.”

Shigeru pouts, which is somehow still the least childish and pathetic thing he’s done all day. Watari keeps a straight face and continues to clean him up with brisk movements.

“So,” he says at last, raising his eyebrow to leave that open.

Shigeru groans at him. “Can we not. Please?”

“You just picked a fight with your ace spiker in front of the entire fucking team,” Watari says in an even tone. “So, no, we’re doing this.”

“You literally wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Watari stops scraping him with the sandpaper-esque paper towels for a moment and gives Shigeru the most ‘bullshit’ expression he’s ever seen.

Shigeru swallows. “He—found something out about me. Something really, uh—private. I just wanted to tell him to keep his mouth shut, but—”

“But you went off the deep end.”

“Mm,” Shigeru hums in quiet assent, his eyes averted.

Watari makes a thoughtful noise. “So, how did he know you’re gay?”

Shigeru freezes. He’s suspected for a while that Watari knew, or that he had an idea at least, but they’ve never talked about it. “He—overheard something Tora said.”

“Hm.” Watari is silent for a few moments. In the meantime Shigeru's inside twist themselves into knots. “Was he a jerk about it?”

“Huh?” Shigeru stares at him. “No, he—”

“Good.” Watari holds his gaze and Shigeru holds his breath. “If he was a jerk I'd have to kick his ass, and frankly, I'm not sure I could.”

Shigeru only knows he's started grinning because he feels the pull on his split lip.

Watari looks exasperated. “Shigeru,” he says, mock-stern. “You can be an asshole, but you're my asshole, okay?” He reaches up and pats at Shigeru's cheek with the dry corner of a paper towel. “Come on, don't cry.”

“I'm not crying,” Shigeru says, laughing a little as he brings his hand up to wipe his eyes. “ _You're_ crying.”

“I will,” Watari says, mock-threatening. “Don't think I won't. You know I’m a sympathetic crier.”

Shigeru snorts, and Watari grins at him. “Come on, I'll walk you to the station.”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

"Kyoutani! Hey, Kyou, hold on a second—”

Kentarou turns when he recognises Iwaizumi's voice again. He flushes involuntarily, remembering the shame of the previous night; after telling Yahaba and Watari to get lost, Iwaizumi had called into his work for him to make an excuse, and then carefully cleaned the blood from his face and chest with a damp towel. It was clear how badly he wanted to know what had caused the fight, but true to his word, he hadn't asked.

"Iwaizumi-senpai," Kentarou mutters gruffly, halting a little to let him catch up.

Iwaizumi smiles at him, and Kentarou feels his stomach turn. He's ashamed now of his silly crush, of the useless daydreams that got him through the last year of this shitty club. Nobody else has been kind to him like Iwaizumi has, and now he's fucked it up.

"How're you doing today?" Iwaizumi asks, clapping him on the shoulder. He reaches out to touch Kyoutani's jaw, turning his head gently a few degrees to the left. "Got off lightly with that jaw," he observes casually, his smile catching again. "I bet Yahaba hits like a kitten."

That gets a snort out of Kentarou, the humour unexpected and all the more appreciated for that. "Yeah," he mumbles, ducking his head and wincing as Iwaizumi's hand slips away. "He sucker punched me."

Iwaizumi hums in agreement. "Yeah, and I'm sure he knows it." He slides his arm around Kyoutani's shoulder and steers him in the direction of Aoba Jousai. "If it helps at all, I'm sure he's feeling at least as ashamed as you are this morning."

"Wouldn't bet on it," Kentarou mutters.

"Mm, we'll see." Iwaizumi gives him a gentle shake before letting go.

"Iwa-cha—an!"

Iwaizumi groans. "Shit, I thought I'd outrun him." He drags his hands over his face. "You think I'll be able to hide before he finds me?"

Most people wouldn't believe it, but Kentarou doesn't really go in for being that disrespectful all the time. Rather, he's respectful so long as someone can earn it. Oikawa did _not_ earn it, and Kentarou gets a little thrill of pleasure every time one of the other third years calls him out on his bullshit.

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa yells again, somewhere behind them. His voice is less plaintive and more irate the second time, and Kentarou braces himself for the inevitable—

"Stop messing around with Kyouken-chan! Iwa-chan, I need to talk to you!"

Iwaizumi glances at Kentarou out of the corner of his eye, then he turns and glares over his shoulder. "Watch your mouth, shittykawa!" he yells. "His name's Kyoutani, or is that too much for your little pea-brain to cope with?"

Oikawa's indignant squawk echoes through the early mist, making Kentarou smile quietly to himself.

"It's fine," he says, keeping his head bowed. "Thank you, Iwaizumi-senpai."

"My pleasure," Iwaizumi says, sounding a little bemused. "Though I'm sure you could've stopped that fight yourself if you'd really wanted to."

Kentarou shrugs.

"Don't fight with him," Iwaizumi says, more gently than Kentarou deserves. "He's a drama queen, you're giving him what he wants."

There's nothing to say to that, because he _knows_ , so Kentarou just nods and silently accepts Iwaizumi's parting shoulder pat before he runs off to berate Oikawa. As he approaches the school gate, Kentarou can't resist looking back at them. The sun is just barely starting to crawl above the horizon and their silhouettes glow golden in the morning light. Their heads are bent together, laughter echoing faintly to where he stands. Kentarou's fists clench in the pocket of his hoodie.

 

 

Kentarou does his best to avoid everyone. Morning practice is easy; everyone is half asleep, and Yahaba is nowhere to be seen, so all Kentarou has to do is keep his head down and hit Toyama's spikes when it's his turn. Easy. He can't help the uncharitable thought that Yahaba is a miserable, cowardly little scrote—which he is, but still—at the same time, Kentarou feels a tiny kernel of approval at the way he stood up for himself.

"Kyoutani!"

Kentarou groans and picks up his pace. Today is just the day of people chasing him down apparently. His escape attempt isn't enough; Watari catches up to him moments later, the slap of his running footsteps hurrying up behind Kentarou and then shattering to a stop at his side.

"Fuck, you're fast," Watari complains, skipping along unevenly when Kyoutani doesn't slow his pace. "Hey—come on, man, I've only got short legs."

To both their surprise, Kentarou laughs softly at the joke, and drops his pace a little. Watari falls into step with him, smiling an annoyingly cheerful smile.

"Thanks, I'm already exhausted from practice. I stayed up way too late playing this new game with my brother."

Kentarou has nothing particular to offer on the subject of new video games or short legs, so he offers a vague grunt in response and hopes that Watari will go away.

"Hey, um," Watari attempts into the silence. "I know it's totally not my place, and believe me, I don't want to make excuses for him—"

"Don't bother," Kentarou says, a little harshly.

Watari frowns. "I'm really not apologising, that's up to him. I just—I wanted to thank you, I guess, for not beating the shit out of him."

"Uh—”

"I mean, it's no secret that you could have, and I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it," Watari goes on, talking hurriedly. "It's just—well, this is a really big deal, you know? It's, uh—it's really good, that you won't tell." He hesitates, his eyes searching Kentarou's face, wide and earnest. "You won't, right? I told Yahaba, but he's such an idiot—anyway, I told him that you're a good guy, you wouldn't do something like that."

Kentarou's throat feels suddenly parched. He swallows carefully. "I wouldn't," he says, wanting Watari to believe him, and wondering why he even cares. "I wouldn't have told anyone. I mean—I won't tell." He sighs and says, mostly to himself, "Who'd even care anyway?"

To his surprise, Watari lets out a burst of laughter. "That poor kid," he says, grinning. "Didn't anyone tell you he's the centre of the universe?"

Kentarou rolls his eyes. "My mistake.” He chances a tiny smirk and feels his stomach tilt pleasantly when Watari grins at him.

"He's really an asshole though, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

"I'm used to it."

Watari sighs, letting the last of his laughter drain out of his voice. "Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't get used to it."

Kentarou just shrugs, but he's strangely touched, to know that Watari even thought to come after him, let alone that he cares enough—even if it's just in this moment—that he doesn't want Kentarou's life to be any shittier than it already is.

“I gotta get to class,” Watari says, hopping on the spot. “We're gonna go get burgers or something after practice tonight though, all the second years. Come with us?”

Kentarou’s mind goes blank.

He's so surprised that he forgets, for a moment, that an answer is required of him, and simply stares back at Watari with his mouth hanging open.

"Uh—”

Watari coughs lightly and scuffs his feet against the floor. "I mean, you don't have to, but we want you to. Yamahata and Ishida too, I promise."

Kentarou swallows heavily. He doesn't want to ask. There's no way, in fact, that he's about to open his mouth and even say Yahaba's name out loud, let alone ask if he's going to be there like he's some kind of first year girl with a crush. And then he gets his thoughts together and realises that it doesn't matter anyway: he's not going to go.

"Uh, thanks," he says, awkwardly. "For the invitation, but—"

"Yahaba's invited too," Watari says, before he can finish. He looks back at Kentarou with something like a challenge on his face. Kentarou has a grudging respect for Watari; most people take one look at him and run the other way, and even if the attempt at friendship is born out of pity, Watari is certainly determined about it. "I don't know if he'll come or not," Watari continues, looking patently unimpressed about it. "He hasn't bothered to text me today, I only found out from Coach Mizoguchi that he wasn't coming in, but I thought you should know that he might show up."

"Uh—"

"But you should still come with us," Watari insists, clutching at his bag strap as he steps closer. "I meant what I said the other day, you know. You're part of the team too."

Kentarou feels something reach into his chest and seize him hard. He ducks his head for a moment and grits his teeth, willing himself not to care. "I'll think about it," he mutters to the ground, but Watari hears him anyway. He cheers, and jumps on the spot.

"Awesome! I'll tell the others." The school bell rings out and he swears. "I really have to run—I'll see you at practice, Kyoutani!"

"Oh—yeah, okay," Kentarou calls after him, watching Watari turn and scamper off down the hallway. A couple of other dawdling second years greet him and he high-fives them, laughing as he runs past them to reach his own classroom.

Kentarou frowns after him, still completely bewildered that someone so smart and popular wants to be friends with _him_. The only way he could be more surprised is if Yahaba suddenly got down on his knees and declared undying love for him.

"Kyoutani-kun!" someone shouts.

He glances wearily in the direction of the voice. It's Murakawa-sensei, and he looks even less impressed with Kentarou than usual.

"You should already be at your desk," Murakawa says crossly, wrenching open the classroom door and gesturing for Kentarou to step inside. "You have ten seconds to sit down or I'm issuing detention."

Kentarou sighs. "Yes, sensei," he mumbles.


	4. Chapter 4

***

 

 

 

 

It's almost time for lunch break to start when Shigeru puts his shoulders back, lifts his head high, and walks through the school gates.

He's roughly eighty percent certain that Kyoutani won't have told anyone about him, but there's still the lingering fear that everyone will somehow _know_. A second year girl that he knows from his first year class passes him in the hallway and smiles at him. Shigeru greets her, conjuring a sunny smile until she's gone, then spends the next two minutes trying to convince himself that it was a normal smile, the way you'd smile at any acquaintance, rather than a smile concealing the fact that she knows he wants to kiss other men.

The bell rings to signal the end of morning classes, and Shigeru glances nervously over his shoulder as he takes a spot opposite the door to Classroom Three. He waits a few minutes, watching as a few groups and pairs of students trickle out into the hallway, but there's no sign of Tora. Shigeru hesitates for a moment before crossing the hallway and peering inside. Tora is sitting in her usual seat by the window, her head propped in her hands while she glares down at a pile of homework.

Glancing around, Shigeru assures himself that the strange looks directed at him are, definitely, one hundred percent related to him hanging out in the doorway and nothing to do with suspicious and coincidentally accurate rumours flying around the school about his sexuality. He goes inside and sits down at the desk in front of Tora's.

"What's cookin' good lookin'?"

Tora looks up in surprise. "Hey, loser," she says, smiling weakly. "I thought you weren't in today."

"I wasn't."

She shrugs and goes back to glaring at her work. "Okay."

"Hey, are you alright?"

Tora's mouth stretches unhappily and she hesitates for a long moment before sighing and leaning back in her seat. "I don't get this," she mutters, throwing down her pen. "Ama-sensei explained it three times and I still can't get it."

She folds her arms and turns to glare out of the window, and Shigeru has the uncomfortable realisation that she’s holding back tears. He casts around for something to say that will distract her, because if he lets her cry in front of her classmates, she’ll probably never forgive him.

"So, I got in a fight last night," he ventures in a conversational tone.

Tora snorts. "Right," she mutters.

Shigeru grins. "No, really."

Tora turns to look at him, her nose wrinkling in disbelief. " _You_ got in a fight."

“I did.”

They stare at one another for a long moment, and then Tora cracks, and kicks him in the shin.

“Ow, shit!”

“Tell me about it already!”

Shigeru shrugs and bends to rub his shin, wincing. “Don't kick me and I will,” he says evenly. He glances around to check that nobody can hear before continuing. “It—well, it doesn't matter, but it was with someone on the team.”

Tora fixes him with a cool look. “Not Hanger-san?”

“You know that's not actually his name right?” Shigeru says, returning her stare. “It's Oikawa, and he's not even on the team anymore, thanks for paying attention.”

Tora flaps her hand dismissively. “As if I care what a bunch of smelly teenage boys are doing with their free time.”

“For a start, because he was team captain, and now that he's left _I'm_ the captain, so maybe you could take an interest—”

“So who's the one you fought with?” she asks, speaking over him.

Shigeru sighs. “Kyoutani.”

Tora shrugs. “Don't know him.”

“No reason you should,” Shigeru mutters. He reaches out and turns her exercise book around. “Anyway, I tried to sneak in last night but mother dearest was there, and she caught me sneaking to my room with a blood-stained t-shirt and totally panicked. She made me stay home this morning.”

Shigeru doesn’t mention that he'd agreed as soon as she suggested that he take the morning off, too embarrassed to look his teammates in the eye after his performance the night before. Tora has already lost interest in any case, so Shigeru taps the page of her exercise book and forces a smile.

“Why don't you show me what you were struggling with.”

“Ugh,” Tora groans, slumping in her chair. “I have to translate these phrases, and then memorise them, and Sensei _knows_ I’m bad at memorising but I have to do it anyway.”

Shigeru frowns and glances over the English phrases. “Alright,” he says, nodding to himself. “You have tricks, right? For memorising stuff?”

Tora shrugs. “I guess. I’m just bouncing off this one.” She stabs a finger at the paper. “This bit, I just—I can’t make sense of it, it keeps sliding around on the page.”

“Let’s write it out again, so you can read it,” Shigeru says, grabbing for her pen.

 

 

Practice that afternoon is, as expected, hideously awkward. Shigeru pulls everyone aside in small groups before the session really gets started, to apologise for the argument the night before. He plays it off as minor, meaningless, and laughs with everyone even though inside his guts are twisting from the memory of the fight. He can still feel the sensation of Kyoutani’s body against his own, the smack of his fist making contact, the feel of Kyoutani’s dried blood on his skin.

Running drills, at least, means they can more or less avoid each other for the entire session. Shigeru tries to ignore the fact that Kyoutani seems to be in his line of sight no matter where he turns, and focuses instead on pushing himself hard to make up for skipping morning practice.

By the time it’s over, he’s tired and antsy, and more than ready to get the hell away from Seijou with Watari and the others. He locks up the clubroom and hurries down to meet them. As he draws closer, he realises that where there should be three figures, there are four. Ishida, Yamahata, Watari, and Kyoutani.

“Captain!” Yamahata says affectionately, throwing an arm around his shoulder and ruffling his hair.

Shigeru submits to the attack, because he knows there’s no use fighting it, and smoothes his hair with a wince when he’s finally released.

“Let’s go,” Watari says, jostling Shigeru’s arm with his own and smiling in a way that looks charming and innocent, but to Shigeru is an unequivocal threat to be on his best behaviour. It’s the sort of look he’s been receiving from his parents his entire life, and Watari achieves it with terrifying success.

Watari, Yamahata and Ishida all strike out in front, leaving Shigeru and Kyoutani standing together under the street light. They stand, frozen in an awkward silence for several seconds, then Kyoutani stomps off after the others, and Shigeru reluctantly trudges after him.

There isn’t really anywhere to go except to walk alongside Kyoutani. Shigeru tucks his face into his scarf, hoping he can use it as an excuse for keeping his mouth shut, but after a minute or so, Kyoutani breaks the silence.

“I thought you weren’t coming today.”

Shigeru turns to scowl at him, but Kyoutani isn’t looking, so the effort is wasted. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks instead, in a petulant tone. “They’re my friends.”

Kyoutani’s eyebrows furrow. “Well, yeah, but you skipped practice this morning.”

Huffing impatiently, Shigeru turns his gaze back to the street ahead. “That wasn’t my choice,” he mutters, unsure why he feels the need to explain himself to Kyoutani.

“Fine,” Kyoutani says. “Don’t miss any more.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Kyoutani glances at him, and for no reason that Shigeru can determine, it makes him feel very small. “You’re captain, that’s all.”

Shigeru bites his tongue to stop himself from snapping something stupid in response, and tries to pull on some of the unaffected calm he's stolen from Oikawa's method of dealing with troublesome people. His resolve snaps a second later.

“I know you wish I wasn't here,” he says, keeping his voice light and teasing. Guaranteed to piss Kyoutani off, which is all he really wants.

"I don't care what you do," Kyoutani mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Forget it, I have shit to do."

Shigeru stops walking and watches him turn on his heel. "Giving up, Kyouken-chan? Is that what you do, you run away?"

Kyoutani spins around, hustling into Shigeru's space the same way he did on that first day after they woke up in each other's beds. "I've never run away from anything," he hisses, so close that Shigeru can feel Kyoutani's breath on his cheek.

The proximity makes him feel warm and shivery with anticipation, adrenaline rushing through his limbs. Some dark, disgusting little part of him wants to throw himself at Kyoutani again, to tear at him and hurt him and shred him to pieces. The hair on the back of his neck prickles.

"Move," Kyoutani snarls, when Shigeru just stands there.

"Oh, so you _do_ care what I do?" Shigeru taunts, trying to keep a hold on the conversation.

Kyoutani just snorts and pushes past him, heading after the others, who haven't even turned around yet.

They walk along in silence again, and they're almost to the restaurant when Watari turns around and gives Shigeru a _significant_ look. Shigeru sighs and nods “Hey, Kyoutani? About yesterday—”

“Forget it,” Kyoutani mutters, his voice brusque and dismissive.

Shigeru glances at him, ready to feel offended by the casual brush off, but then he catches the way Kyoutani carefully avoiding his eyes and realises that he’s embarassed.

“Alright then,” Shigeru says with a shrug. It ought to be some kind of relief. After all, he doesn’t particularly want to apologise _again_ , or feel indebted to him in any way, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

At the fast food place, Watari is quick to seat himself next to Kyoutani on one side of the table. Shigeru, on the other hand, is last in line, and finds himself squeezing in beside Yamahata on the other side of the table, right across from Kyoutani. For a little while he just focuses on eating his burger and lets the conversation wash over him. The others chat loudly, even Kyoutani offering the occasional response when they nudge him to join in. It’s obvious that Watari is going out of his way to include Kyoutani, to ask for his opinion or laugh at something he says. If the effort is this transparent to Shigeru then it must be for Kyoutani too, but it’s nice that Watari cares, probably.

Shigeru finds himself watching Kyoutani more than the others. It makes sense, of course, seeing as Kyoutani is right in his line of sight, but Shigeru finds himself noticing things he wouldn’t normally. Kyoutani isn’t exactly a delicate eater, but he’s careful with the packaging that holds his fried chicken. And then there’s the fact that he ordered the smallest meal available, claiming that he’ll have to eat his aunt’s cooking later when Ishida commented on it, but Shigeru can’t help thinking of Kyoutani’s run down little house, his secondhand school bag with the previous owner’s name scrawled inside it.

“Hey,” Kyoutani says, interrupting his thoughts. “What is it?”

Shigeru blinks. “What?”

“You’re starin’ at me,” Kyoutani mutters, glancing around uncomfortably. “The hell did I do now?”

Shigeru opens his mouth to respond, but Yamahata interrupts loudly. He leans over, jostling Shigeru’s arm with his elbow, and slaps a tattered copy of Volleyball Weekly on the table by Kyoutani’s hand.

“What d’you think, Kyouken?” he asks in an excitable tone.

“Kyoutani,” Watari reminds him in a low voice.

Yamahata nods eagerly and points at a block of text underneath the picture of a player that Shigeru doesn’t recognise. “Read it!” he says, grinning.

Shigeru notices Kyoutani’s expression freeze briefly, his mouth pulling tight with discomfort and worry. “Just tell me,” he mutters after a few moments. “I’m eating.”

He isn’t though, really; he’s pushing a few stray fries around the cardboard container, but either way Yamahata is not to be discouraged. He taps the page again with one wide finger.

“Just read this bit and tell me what you think, man. We can’t decide.”

Kyoutani winces and lowers his eyes to the page. Ishida says something that Yahaba doesn’t catch, and he and Yamahata go back to chatting, but Shigeru’s eyes are still glued to Kyoutani. He reaches out to hold the page flat and his eyes start to scan slowly. His mouth moves as he reads, his eyebrows drawing together. Shigeru notices Kyoutani’s finger move across the page to make a point that his eyes seem to come back to several times, the crease of his brow becoming more pronounced.

Finally he shrugs and pushes the magazine across the table, ignoring Yamahata’s wailed protest when it slides through a smear of mustard.

“I don’t really care,” Kyoutani mumbles, presumably referencing the contents of the magazine or the mustard, perhaps both.

“Well I think he’s definitely gonna get scouted by the Panthers this season,” Ishida says in a haughty tone.

Watari shrugs. “I’m with Kyoutani, who cares—Yama, stop whining, it’s just mustard. You shouldn’t have put it on the table while we’re still eating.”

“Don’t be mean, Watacchi!”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

Shigeru ignores their squabbling. He finally tears his eyes from Kyoutani and goes about finishing his own meal, but he can’t stop thinking about Kyoutani struggling to read that paragraph, lingering over a difficult kanji. He feels like something just came together, the idea buzzing and filling him up.

“Are you eating those?” Yamahata asks, leaning over and giving his fries a predatory look.

“No,” Shgieru decides, picking up the carton of fries. He reaches over and deposits it on Kyoutani’s tray. “But neither are you.”

While Yamahata groans and complains in his ear, Shigeru sips his milkshake and tries to ignore the curious look that Kyoutani is giving him across the table.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Kentarou and Yahaba are the first ones to the clubroom on Friday afternoon, along with Watari and Ishida. The first years are dawdling, which has really only happened since the threat of Iwaizumi's glare stopped being a thing they needed to worry about. It doesn't exactly piss Kentarou off, not after he was so lax about attending practice himself, but it does niggle at him for some reason he can't identify.

The disrespect seems somehow worse coming from the first years; maybe just because he's a senpai himself now, in a way, or maybe—

Well, whatever it is, who gives a shit. They should be here.

Kentarou strips off quickly. He spent lunchtime with Nagumo and Isoda for the first time in at least a week, and his shirt has been clammy and itchy all afternoon after the sweat he built up running around the sports field. He steps out of his ugly uniform trousers and then pulls off his gross undershirt with a sigh.

"What've you got planned for us today, Captain?" Ishida calls out.

Kyoutani looks up briefly, his gaze catching on the others where they stand by their lockers. His own is off to one side of the room, near the corner, while the rest of the second years are mostly clumped in the same place. Yamahata is totally naked, un-self-consciously standing there and untwisting his inside-out gym shirt while the other three bicker around him. Kentarou shakes his head in sheer wonderment at the guy.

Watari and Ishida are far more reserved than Yamahata, but Yahaba doesn't seem to care. He's paused in his changing, his school shirt still clutched in one hand from where he's only just taken it off, his hair rumpled because he didn't unbutton it before pulling it over his head. Kentarou can't quite make out what he's saying because he has his back turned, and he isn't yelling like Ishida and Yamahata tend to do. Yahaba shifts his weight, propping one hand on his hip and gesturing with the other while he talks. His back muscles move fluidly under his pale skin, and Kentarou watches a mole ghost back and forth over his shoulder blade as the bone shifts beneath his skin.

"Yo, Kyouken-chan."

Kentarou blinks out of his daze. He's just standing there, he realises, with his gym shorts dangling from one hand. Yahaba turns too, and Kentarou watches the elegant twist of his spine before snatching his gaze away and directing it safely to the floor.

"What," he mutters, turning back to his locker and stepping into his shorts.

Ishida laughs. "Man, I knew you weren't listening. Trying to set Captain-kun on fire by glaring at him?"

Kentarou wishes Yahaba _would_ catch on fire. He wishes they'd _all_ catch on fire, or maybe just him, then he wouldn't have to worry about their stupid fucking questions, or why his face feels so warm now.

"Something like that," he says, tugging his shorts up and letting the waistband go with a _snap_. They're waiting for more, he realises: an answer to the question he didn't hear. Kentarou turns, and is surprised to find that the others have already lost interest. Only Yahaba is still watching him, his expression open and curious. Kentarou curses his stupid blush. "What?" he demands.

Yahaba startles, and seems to recognise that he's still standing there in only his boxer shorts. And, really, those things are so tight that he might as well be wearing nothing, especially when Kentarou already knows just how much ammunition he's carrying around in them. They both turn away at the same moment, Kentarou hiding his blush in his t-shirt, but he dares one brief glance over his shoulder and is mortified to see that the back of Yahaba's neck has gone pink.

The first years burst through the door before he has time to consider the implications, making enough noise to drown out the low conversation being held between Watari and Ishida. Kindaichi takes one look at Yamahata—still balls naked and totally unconcerned—and squeaks something about needing to use the bathroom. Kentarou watches him go with a bemused expression, and as he's turning back to his locker Kunimi catches his eye. To his surprise, Kunimi gives him the barest hint of a smile and rolls his eyes.

Kentarou gives him a brief, grim smile in return, and turns away for good so that he can finish changing without any more stupid distractions.

 

 

For the first time since the third years left—maybe even longer than that—Kentarou really, truly, unapologetically _enjoys_ that afternoon's practice. Mizoguchi still seems intent on giving him more responsibility. More, really, than he's comfortable taking, but when he marches Kentarou across the gym and stands him in front of a group of seated first years, Kentarou actually feels... _good_.

The group he's been given are the weakest players, about eight in total; either the ones that don't work as hard, or haven't shown any particular strength in terms of spiking or receiving or anything else, but they all look up at him with the same gentle awe and fascination that he knows always shows on his face every time he looks up at Iwaizumi.

It's disgusting, really, but it's not unfamiliar. It reminds him of the way Yue and her friends look at him, and that he can work with.

"Right," he says uncertainly, aware of Mizoguchi hovering near his shoulder. "Uh, so, who can tell me the most important element of your receive."

For a moment, they say nothing. Kentarou sighs and puts his hands on his hips. "I don't bite, okay? Someone put their hand up, I know you can't all be _this_ useless."

They exchange nervous glances. After a second, a hand goes up. This reluctant back and forth goes on for a little longer; Kentarou asks them questions about form, about rules, and starts picking on people who look like they want to put their hands up but don't quite dare. There are two shy-looking boys that he takes pity on and doesn't force them to give him an answer. After about ten minutes of this a couple of them start to look fidgety, and Kentarou is just as eager to be moving, still antsy from that strange moment with Yahaba in the clubroom.

He puts them into pairs for stretches even though they will have already warmed up, just to make sure that they're doing them properly. While they work together, he corrects a couple of stances, trying to ignore the way the younger boys flinch slightly when he touches them. Fine, he has a reputation, whatever. They can think what they want. It's probably thanks to Yahaba's stupid fight; even if everyone kept their mouth shut, half the first years were still in the clubroom when Yahaba started kicking off. It seems a little unfair that they've focused their terror on Kentarou, but it's hardly a shock. He's used to this by now.

After they're done stretching, Kentarou divides them into two teams of four. One boy volunteers himself as setter when Kentarou asks, and he chooses another: one of the shy-looking kids, who nevertheless has a certain shine to his eyes when Kentarou asks for volunteers.

He sets them playing, and tries to ignore the smug, pleased look he catches off Coach Irihata from the other side of the gym. After the first point, Kentarou pauses the game and asks the quiet setter what went wrong.

The boy goes pale. "Uh—uh, Fujioka-kun, um—set a little high, I think?" Kentarou nods, giving a sharp gesture for him to continue, and the boy turns faintly green. "Uh, I—I think maybe Hattori-kun's approach was too slow? Or—or Fujioka was too fast for him?"

Kentarou takes pity on him. "Okay," he says, his voice coming out gruff. He thinks of Yue and tries to soften it, even as he's struggling for every word. "Right, so—they're not in sync." Everyone nods. Kentarou nods with them. "Fine, and how do you get in sync?"

Fujioka, the unfortunate setter volunteer, raises a trembling hand. "Um, you practice?"

Kentarou points a finger at him. Fujioka jumps. "Right," Kentarou says, starting to smirk. "You practice a hell of a lot until you get there."

The game continues slowly. Kentarou stops them every couple of points to gently point out mistakes they've made. He wants to yell at them, to point out their obvious fuck ups, but he looks at their terrified, determined faces, and forces himself to think of Yue every time he feels like losing his patience.

Coach Irihata comes over after about half an hour, his stride slow and purposeful as he walks around the side of the court, vigilant for stray balls.

"Kyoutani-kun," he says, stepping up beside Kentarou and clearing his throat quietly. "I didn't know we had such an excellent teacher here."

Kentarou scowls at nothing in particular. "I'm not," he mutters, shrugging. "They're better listeners than they look maybe."

Irihata laughs. "I've said the same about you, Kyoutani-kun.”

Kentarou feels his cheeks get warm. "That one might be a good backup setter for Toyama," he says, pointing at the shy boy. "The other kid, maybe, but I don’t think tossing is his strength. He's picking up blocking quickly though, should try him as a middle blocker instead."

"Mm, good idea," Irihata says thoughtfully. "Those stats you wrote for Mizoguchi the other day were very helpful, I'd like you to keep making them regularly, if you don't mind."

"Shouldn't Yahaba do that?" Kentarou says, awkward and defensive. Irihata gives him a shrewd look and Kentarou quails under his gaze. "Uh—sorry, no offence. I just think he'd be better at it."

"I think you should give yourself more credit," Irihata says in a matter of fact voice, before turning back to watch the first years play. "Pick out four players, if you would. I want to set up a game mixing up the reserves with the regulars and see how they do playing with our starters."

Kentarou wrinkles his nose, desperate to point out that it will almost certainly be a _hot mess_ , but not wanting to disrespect his coach twice in as many minutes. "Yes, Coach," he mumbles, and waits until Irihata walks away again to end the game. He picks the shy setter—Kamon, apparently—and three others to join the starters, and the remainder fall back to the benches looking relieved at their lucky escape.

"Take a water break," Kentarou tells his chosen players, and they too scamper off to the benches to fetch their water bottles.

After a few minutes, Irihata pulls Yahaba to one side, presumably to set up the practice game. Kentarou fetches his own drink and chews on the nub of plastic between his teeth while he watches them from across the gym. He can't get the image of Yahaba's slender back out of his head, the way it twisted as he turned to look across the clubroom. He scowls at the back of Yahaba's head and bites the plastic spout so hard that it comes off in his teeth.

"Shit," he mutters, spitting it out onto the floor.

One of the first years, the lanky blocker who can't keep his arms straight, gives Kentarou a horrified look and then hurries away to his friends. Kentarou sighs and unscrews the lid off the bottle to pour some water down his throat. Some of it misses and splashes down his t-shirt, but he couldn't give a fuck. It's warm in here anyway, even if he hasn't been moving around all that much except for the occasional demonstration for the first years. After wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, he snaps the lid back on the bottle and slams it down on the bench. When he looks up again, Yahaba is watching him for a second time that day. He looks away as soon as Kentarou catches him, turning to clap his hands at the milling second years and hurry them into position for a practice game.

Kentarou stares at him for a few moments longer, bewildered by all this eyeing up that's going back and forth between them. He can't help feeling like Yahaba is going to slam him into a wall again the first chance he gets, but he'll burn that bridge when he comes to it.

Mizoguchi blows a whistle and starts gesturing everyone over to assign positions for the game. Kentarou takes one step, and then a shudder runs through him.

He goes to complete the step, but his leg kicks out awkwardly from his standing position. He looks around at his new position with dawning horror. Across the gym, he watches his own body stumble in surprise. Shit.

The only good thing about this situation is that, this time, they switched _before_ he was in the air.

He feels strangely overheated in Yahaba's body, his face hot even though he hasn't been exerting himself and he isn't sweaty at all; Kentarou was already sweating a little just from standing in the gym.

"Uh," Kentarou says, watching his own eyes widen as Yahaba watches him turn to speak to the coach. "Coach Irihata?"

Irihata turns and looks at him, patient and a little bemused.

"Uh, I think—maybe I should sit this one out, and watch?"

"Yahaba," Irihata says, frowning. "You were just telling me that you think it's a good idea to play with everyone, so that you can learn to gel with everyone's play styles—"

Kentarou winces. "I know, but—"

"We'll play one set, and see how it's working."

By the time he turns back, Yahaba has made it across the gym. Kentarou faces him, straightening up to Yahaba's full height. It pisses him off, how Yahaba is just that little bit taller than him, just enough to see over most of the crowd, just enough to lord it over him if he wants to. Which he apparently does, and frequently. It's the first time, really, that they've been switched and Kentarou has really had the opportunity to look at himself properly from the outside. The few times before that they've even been in the same place, he's been distracted—by injury, by teammates or friends.

It's. Well, it's really fucking weird, is what it is. He knows what he looks like, yeah, but it's totally different to seeing himself in a photo or reflected in the mirror. Yahaba stands up straighter than he does, but holds himself stiffly, like he doesn't quite know how to work Kentarou's body, and doesn't want to get it wrong. That strikes him as pretty typical of Yahaba; he knows a lot less than he pretends to, and he fakes what he doesn't know. Smartass.

"Kyoutani," Kentarou says, knowing even as he says it that he's wrong—that Yahaba would call him _Kyouken_ —but he doesn't want to say that out loud, especially not for the sake of Yahaba's ego. “I want you on my team.”

Yahaba's eyes widen momentarily, before he responds with a shrug and a gruff noise of assent. It's...kind of annoying, to be honest. Kentarou wonders if this is why he doesn't really have any friends, before reminding himself that he doesn't want them.

Kentarou turns away again. He's seen Yahaba pick their practice teams enough times now that he can easily assign the players to either side, mixing them up with the first years he picked out. He doesn't really want to play with Yahaba, if only because being so close to his own body like this is uncanny and awful, but his own experience of playing setter is pretty scarce.

“Uh, Yahaba,” Yahaba says. Kentarou glances at him and Yahaba jerks his head, eyes wide, indicating for him to follow. “A word?”

Kentarou huffs, but follows him around the edge of the gym on the pretext of grabbing their water bottles.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Yahaba hisses when they're far enough away that nobody can eavesdrop.

“How the hell should I know?”

Yahaba groans. “Do you even know how to toss?”

“Sure.” Kentarou shrugs. “Ball goes up.”

Yahaba covers his face with his hands. “Oh, god.”

“It's not that bad—”

“It _is_ that bad,” Yahaba snaps. He taps his finger against his chin, considering. “Alright, play half a set—or however long it takes for Irihata to stop the game and ask you what the fuck is going on, because he will—and when he does, apologise and tell him that you're getting a migraine and it's throwing you off.”

Kentarou gives him a doubtful look. “A migraine.”

“Yes,” Yahaba says, folding his arms. “I get fucking migraines, woop-di-do.”

“Fine, I'll do that.” He eyes Yahaba anxiously. Yahaba looks back at him with brewing impatience. Kentarou bites his lip. “Wait—are you sure...can you play, when you're me?”

Yahaba scoffs at him. “I'm not an idiot, Kyouken. Maybe I can't mimic your disgusting jump serve, but I know how to spike.”

Kentarou floods with annoyance. “That's not—” he snaps, but cuts himself short. He knows that if Yahaba doesn't use his body right, he could get hurt again, but he doesn't know how to begin explaining that. Moreover, he doesn't want to stand here and admit his weakness to this asshole. “Fine, whatever.”

They get a few curious glances from their teammates when they rejoin the rest of the group and take their places on the court, but Kentarou is used to tuning out other people's stares. And, of course, they look at him differently when he's Yahaba.

Kunimi is first up to serve for their team, which isn't exactly the best way to spur everyone into action, but Kentarou quickly reminds himself that they're not here to play a full game anyway. He tries to run through in his mind what he remembers from setter training in previous years. Everyone had a little practice at it in middle school, at least until they started to show a preference for one position or another. Kentarou has always known that he wanted to play a wing spiker, that he'd be the ace of his team or die trying, so admittedly he hadn't taken the practice all that seriously. Still, he reckons he can toss a fucking ball in the air at least half as well as Yahaba can.

"Kyouken!" Yamahata yells, sending the ball up to him from his receive.

Kentarou grits his teeth and moves to the net. Moving around as Yahaba is strange enough, but he's quickly discovering that trying to play volleyball in an unfamiliar body is no easy task. His depth perception is different than he's used to, and he brings his hands up too late. The ball smacks him right in the face, thankfully glancing off his cheekbone and left eyebrow rather than smashing his nose.

"Shit," he snarls, clapping his hands over his face. The ball bounces out of bounds.

"Dammit, K—" Yahaba shouts, stopping abruptly when he realises his mistake. Kunimi turns to look at him curiously, but most everyone else has rushed over to fuss at Kentarou.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he mutters, shrugging off Yamahata's hands on his shoulders.

"I'm so—are you okay? Jeez, I'm so sorry, Yahaba, my receive must have been off."

Kentarou groans and squares his shoulders. His face stings, but he's had worse. "Get off, Yamahata, it's fine," he says, and then, because it's Yahaba's body and not his own, "It was my mistake."

At the other side of the court, Yahaba snorts and tosses his head, that affected girly move he has where he shakes his silly floppy hair out of his eyes so that he can glare at someone. With no stupid hair to flick out of his face, he just looks like he's trying to shake off a wasp or something. Kentarou scowls at him.

"Let's keep going," he says sharply.

The other team scores again within seconds of the ball going up again. Kentarou glances at Kamon the shy kid, his newest protege apparently, who's currently playing as a middle blocker for their team along with Yamahata. Kamon returns his gaze with no small degree of terror in his gaze. Right, Yahaba is his captain, probably someone he's barely exchanged a dozen words with, seeing as Yahaba is too stuck up to talk to anyone. Kentarou smiles at Kamon anyway, because there's no use in letting him stay intimidated by such a useless creampuff as Yahaba. Even the volleyball punches harder than Yahaba. There's nothing scary about _that_.

They go into another serve, and Kentarou finally gets another shot at a toss. He can feel Yahaba revving up, getting ready to make a run for the ball even though he could leave it for Kunimi or the other first year. Typical. Of course he's only reckless when he's joyriding Kentarou's body.

Kunimi passes the ball to the front and Kentarou moves into position again. This time, he's sure. This time he'll get it. He raises his arms, his eyes half on the ball and half on Yahaba sprinting past Kamon, digging his toes into the floor, ready to jump—

Kentarou tosses the ball. Even before it leaves his fingers he can tell that it's short, but Yahaba responds perfectly. He twists slightly in the air, bringing his hand out to the side instead of overhead to catch the ball as its trajectory drops it just short of his ideal range. His fist knocks the ball right into the blocker's palms and the ball shudders down between the net and their bodies, dropping sadly to the floor at their feet.

Yahamata gives a surprised yell and Yahaba turns to look at Kentarou when he lands.

"Nice toss," he says, smirking slightly. Kentarou is around sixty percent certain he actually means it. "Your serve."

Kentarou takes the ball from under the net and walks to the back of the gym. He wants, badly, to try his jump serve in Yahaba's body. He probably wouldn't get a lot of power behind it, but the thought of running and jumping and spiking in this body, with its added height, with the way it responds so easily to his commands, he's tempted to try all the same. Before he can make up his mind, he glances at Yahaba and catches him staring back, his eyes narrowed. He shakes his head once, and Kentarou scowls back. Fine, next time they switch like this, he's going straight outside to practice jump serves, no matter what Yahaba happens to be doing at the time.

Kentarou serves. It's a little off, but it's respectable enough. The other team attempt a straight, but Kunimi intercepts Kindaichi's spike with a bored expression.

"Nice one-touch!" Yahaba shouts, forgetting again to keep the praise to a minimum. He's the one to catch the rebound, and he locks eyes with Kentarou when he sends the ball his way.

Kentarou nods. Yamahata moves in to spike, while Yahaba gets himself in a position to receive in case of a block. The ball falls towards Kentarou as if in slow motion. He bites the inside of his cheek and watches its descent. It reaches his hands and he sends it up to meet Yamahata's approach.

The ball lifts off his fingers effortlessly. Unlike the last time, he watches it fall almost perfectly into position for Yamahata to hit it.

The whole team cheers when the spike goes through, bouncing on the floor between the two less experienced first years. Yahamata laughs and turns to him for a high five, and at first Kentarou raises his arm far too high.

"Nice toss, Captain!" he yells, slapping Kentarou's palm hard.

Kentarou nods at him. "Nice kill." He half turns and finds Yahaba beside him, his arm also held high. Kentarou's eyes widen, but he leans forward and high fives him too.

"That was a beautiful toss, Captain," Yahaba says in a low voice.

To his mortification, Kentarou's face heats. He pushes the hair out of his eyes and shrugs. "I'm the setter, after all," he says, and forces himself to smile sweetly at Yahaba. Yahaba splutters, which is annoying because it makes his face look stupid and that's _Kentarou's face_ , but it's satisfying all the same.

Annoyingly, it's his only perfect toss for the rest of the set. He realises after a couple more attempts that it's the muscle memory in Yahaba's body helping him to give anything like an accurate toss, more than his own skill at tossing. They lose the first set by a handful of points, and as Irihata calls out for them to mix up the teams, Yahaba snags Kentarou by his gym shirt and whispers _migraine_ hoarsely in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah," Kentarou mutters, shoving him away.

"Ah, Yahaba," Irihata says, waving him over, "this time—”

"Actually, Coach," Kentarou says, hating every word. "I, uh—maybe you noticed that my form was off. Terrible, really shitty form. See I have this migraine, and—”

Irihata just nods and gestures him away, frowning. "Fine, fine, can you go to the nurse's office by yourself?"

"I'll take him," Yahaba says.

"Uhh, I don't think that's a great idea," Watari pipes up from Kentarou's other side.

Kentarou and Yahaba both turn to look at him.

"Why the hell not?" Surprisingly, it comes from Yahaba, rather than him.

Watari blinks. He looks sidelong at Irihata and sighs. "Nothing, forget it."

Feeling a little bad for him, Kentarou reaches out and slaps Watari's shoulder. "It's fine, I'll see you later."

"Okay," Watari says, still looking worried.

It's a relief to get out of the gym. Kentarou sighs in the cold evening air and pulls one arm across his chest to stretch it.

"You didn't stretch out properly," he tells Yahaba, who’s walking sullenly beside him with his hands in his pockets.

Yahaba groans. "I was distracted, alright? Please, wise one, tell me what other shortcomings you've picked up on today."

The sarcasm in his voice is palpable, sounding strange in Kentarou's own voice. He hadn't realised, before, how different his voice sounds when he's outside his own head. It's hard to tell how much of it is Yahaba and how much is just hearing it from somewhere else.

"You should pay more attention to the kids on the bench," Kentarou says, turning to look at him. Yahaba gives him a doubtful look. "That quiet kid, Kamon, he's smart and I think he'd get pretty good. He's just shy."

"Right," Yahaba says with a snort. "In other words, he's boring."

Kentarou elbows him. "No, he's _shy_. You really suck."

Yahaba elbows him back. "You suck more."

"Seems unlikely," Kentarou mutters before he can stop himself.

There's a beat of silence as Yahaba catches up with his words, but when he does, he stops dead in the doorway to the main school building. "Are you—are you fucking kidding me? I—I can't believe—what the _fuck_?"

Kentarou feels himself blush. "It just slipped out," he says, turning away. He stumbles as he reaches the door, the world tilting slightly, before he realises that he’s back in his own body. When he looks over, Yahaba seems torn between surprise and working himself up into whatever frenzy Kentarou’s words caused. “I...guess we don’t need to go to the nurse’s office anymore?”

Yahaba nods. “Uh, right. Back to practice?”

Kentarou shrugs.

“Hey,” Yahaba calls after him as he starts to head back toward the gym. “That was—uh, you played really well in there.”

Kentarou narrows his eyes for a moment, but Yahaba looks uncharacteristically sincere, so Kentarou decides that he might as well take him at his word.

“Thanks,” he mutters, turning away, and trying to ignore the warmth that rises up in his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG chapter this time, and I also finally get to post the second gorgeous piece from [artbychromo](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com)!!
> 
>  **Warnings** can be found in the end notes of this chapter (it's nothing too serious tho)

***

 

 

 

 

The night after they play a set in each other’s bodies, Shigeru finds himself strangely restless. He’s lying on his bed, idly watching some workout video on his laptop that Oikawa forwarded. There are some good suggestions for helping the younger players to build muscle and improve their reaction times, but Shigeru finds his attention wandering, and he soon realises what the problem is.

It's not that he's normally turned on by guys working out, not really—practice would be an unusual kind of torture if that were the case—but _today_ apparently is a special case. He's only watched a couple of minutes before it cuts to a couple of guys on rowing machines, their back muscles working powerfully under their tight compression shirts.

"Oh wow," he murmurs, glancing down at his dick swelling insistently in his pyjama pants. "Hi there."

The trouble is, Shigeru hasn’t jerked off in over a week, not least for fear of switching with Kyoutani at the wrong moment, and he’s getting desperate. He rolls onto his stomach and switches the workout video to something innocent and boring, but it's no good. Ignoring his needs all week does not seem to have done him any favours, going by the ache in his lower regions right now. Shigeru rolls his hips into the mattress with an exaggerated sigh. He wonders if he could get away with just rubbing one out really quickly. If it weren't for all this stupid built up sexual frustration maybe he wouldn’t be so keen to start a fight every five minutes.

Surrendering himself to his hormones, Shigeru rolls back over and slips his hand inside his pyjama pants with a sigh. The memory of Kyoutani lifting his shirt— _his_ shirt—to wipe his face in the middle of practice, gives him chills in the best and worst way.

It’s not that he’s thinking about Kyoutani exactly, but—okay, maybe a little. There's something strangely mesmerising about watching his own body in action. It’s half mortifying, the same way he hates to see videos or photos of himself as a kid, humiliated by his own stupid antics and naivete. But the other half is strangely...liberating. To watch the way Kyoutani uses his body with the same recklessness that he treats his own.

 _I am a fucking freak_ , Shigeru thinks, stroking himself gently with his fingers uncurled, almost as if he’s doing it by accident. As if that would make it better. He’s touching himself thinking about Kyoutani being inside him—not like that, but. But maybe like that. Unbidden, he remembers meeting Kyoutani’s hostile gaze across the clubroom while they were changing, being half convinced that Kyoutani’s eyes were lingering on him. He remembers as well the fluid curve of Kyoutani’s back when he pulled on his t-shirt and the taut lines of his backside and strong legs.

“Fuck,” Shigeru mutters grimly, grabbing for the waistband of his pyjamas and lifting his hips so he can wriggle them down over his ass. Ignoring this all week was a bad idea. Normally he jerks off every day, at least. He rolls over onto his knees again and pushes his face into the pillow, putting his hands between his legs.

It’s impossible not to think about Kyoutani now that he’s started, but Shigeru does his best. He thinks about Uemura-sensei, from prep school, who always stays behind to listen to Shigeru’s questions even when his girlfriend is waiting for him. Last week he’d touched Shigeru’s shoulder, clasping it firmly while he smiled his lovely smile. Much more gently than the way Kyoutani grabbed him last week, when he fell during practice. Yet Shigeru can’t help remembering the tight grasp of Kyoutani’s fingers around his wrist, and the strong arm around his waist. Even if it wasn’t _his_ waist. Whatever.

He realises, belatedly, that Kyoutani really doesn’t touch him that much. For someone that’s all fists and elbows and a nasty scowl, he keeps his hands to himself most of the time.

Shigeru twitches and lifts one knee forward to crawl out of his pyjamas, then spreads his knees wider. He screws his eyes tight and imagines Kyoutani beneath him, subdued for once. Scowling, probably, but letting Shigeru take charge nonetheless.

Fuck, he’s doing it again. Shigeru tries to go back to Uemura, to his fantasy of kissing him after class finishes, maybe Uemura would sweep everything on his desk and bend him back over it and press into him—

But now it’s Kyoutani. Kyoutani pushing him over sensei’s desk at the front of his classroom, ripping off his tie and biting at his neck—

Shigeru trembles, hands moving quickly, his whole body tensing and toes curling—

He shudders hard, and everything…stops.

Shigeru opens his eyes.

“Oh, no,” he mutters under his breath. He bolts upright in his seat, hearing a startled yelp when a little girl slides off his lap and onto the couch cushions. “F—what—”

“Nii-chan!” the girl scolds, poking him sharply in the leg.

“S—sorry,” Shigeru mutters in Kyoutani’s gruff voice. “Gotta—bathroom.”

He staggers to his feet and makes a dash for the stairs, hurrying up to the little toilet across the hall from Kyoutani’s bedroom. It feels—wrong. So wrong. He knows from earlier switches where Kyoutani’s bedroom is, how to find the bathroom, it’s fucked up. His feet count the steps in the staircase, the muscle memory stored in Kyoutani’s body telling him when they end without him looking.

Shigeru is breathing hard by the time he slams into the tiny toilet and shoulders the door shut behind him. It doesn’t lock, he remembers from his first morning here, but right now he doesn’t care. He sits down on the toilet seat fully clothed and drops his head into his hands. Kyoutani’s buzzed hair ruffles under his fingertips. There’s still a faint quiver of arousal, a tremble in his fingertips, but then his chest starts to tighten and he realises that he’s in trouble.

_He's seven years old and his throat is seizing up. He tries, and tries, but he can’t catch his breath, can’t breathe at all. Joji runs for the teacher and Kano rushes to fetch Sadashi from where the girls are playing in the sandpit. Moments later, she scrambles to her knees in the dirt in front of Shigeru._

_“Shi-chan,” she hisses, sounding both frightened and cross. She grabs his face between her grubby, gritty hands, and looks him in the eye. “You have to breathe, stupid,” she says, holding his cheeks. “Breathe like I do, okay?”_

_He tries to nod, and Sadashi starts to take deep, exaggerated breaths. Shigeru tries to mimic her, though he’s starting to feel dizzy and sick now, and his chest and throat are both aching. Sadashi just holds onto him and keeps on breathing long and slow, her eyes never leaving his._

As far as he knows, Kyoutani does not have asthma, and so there’s no reason at all for his chest to be seizing and his throat closing up. But he remembers, vaguely, that a girl in his class had a panic attack during the cultural festival in first year. He remembers it looked a lot like an asthma attack.

Shigeru closes his eyes and tries to focus on the memory of Sadashi holding his face in her hands, holding her gaze with his own. It takes him several attempts to catch his breath but finally he draws in one short, sharp, perfect gasp of oxygen. Shigeru holds it for a moment, then lets it out with a shaky sigh and tries again.

He’s interrupted by an impatient knock at the door. “Nii-chan!”

Shigeru lifts his head and opens his mouth to reply, but realises that he can’t.

There’s another knock, softer, and then Yue’s quiet voice. “Nii-chan, are you okay? Are you sad again?”

 _Again_? Shigeru thinks, but before he can think of how to respond, Yue pushes open the door and stands there for a moment, watching him while his chest heaves and his eyes water.

“H—hey,” he croaks.

Yue’s face crumples for just a moment, but she draws on a stern expression and marches toward him. “You’re being bad, Nii-chan,” she says impatiently, reaching for his hands to tug them away from his face. “You’re supposed to tell me when you get sad, you promised.”

Shigeru’s mouth drops open in surprise. “S—sorry?”

Sighing, Yue wriggles between his knees and throws her pudgy arms around his neck. Shigeru tenses for a moment, but just like with the stairs, muscle memory takes over and he’s wrapping Kyoutani’s strong arms around Yue’s back before he realises, letting himself be comforted by the smell of her hair.

“I’m a big girl now, Nii-chan,” Yue says in her strict tone. “I can look after you too.”

Shigeru’s eyes fill with tears again—he’s blaming this one on Kyoutani’s stupid body, but whatever—and he squeezes her tighter.

 

 

 

 

 ***

 

 

 

 

Kentarou is not impressed.

One second he was watching a movie with Yue tucked up against him, half asleep after a gruelling practice with the community team. The next second, he’s in Yahaba’s bed, in Yahaba’s _body_ , with—with Yahaba’s stupid dick in his hands.

He comes with a shudder a second later, moaning loudly as the sensation rips through him, taking him utterly by surprise. It feels incredible, knocking him flat into the mattress, into the mess of spunk he’s just shot all over the sheets. Kentarou lays there panting for several minutes before he’s able to move. Wincing at last, he pushes himself up on one arm and looks down at himself. Yeah, definitely not his dick.

Kentarou pushes himself up to his knees and then sits back on his heels. He can’t help the uncharitable thought that somehow Yahaba really is behind this, that it’s all some stupid roundabout way to humiliate him. Kentarou honestly doesn’t know which he wants to do more; punch Yahaba’s smug little face in, or maybe get his mouth around Yahaba’s ridiculous tyrannosaurus prick.

Well, that thought can fuck right off.

The shivery sensation has finally dispersed, leaving his limbs feeling heavy and weak, but his whole body pleasantly sated. Kentarou is certain _he_ never feels this good after jerking off. Typical Yahaba. Always has to do one better.

Kentarou looks around for something to wipe himself off with, before deciding that Yahaba can clean his own damn self as soon as they switch back, and reaches for a discarded shirt instead. He pulls it over his head and gets unsteadily to his feet.

Then, he remembers Yue, and panic sears through him.

The switch startles him even more this time. Just as he reaches to open Yahaba’s bedroom door, he shivers and blinks back into his own body. Yue is in his arms, hugging him tight around his neck, and Kentarou feels a momentary wash of relief before a horrible, cold suspicion falls over him.

“H—hey,” he mutters, patting her back and trying to pull away. His throat feels thick and croaky, and his face is wet. What. the hell.

“Yu-tan,” he murmurs, reaching behind his head and peeling her arms from around his shoulders. “Why are we in the toilet?”

Yue stands back and regards him solemnly with her big dark eyes. “You came in here because you were sad. Are you less sad now?” she asks him dubiously.

Kentarou takes stock: his chest is tight and strange, and his throat feels raw. He wipes his face on his sleeve and wonders what the hell happened to Yahaba in less than five minutes to end up like this. “I was—crying?” he asks, giving her a sidelong look.

Yue shrugs a little, clasping her hands behind her back. “You were breathing all funny,” she says, her mouth twisting unhappily. Then, she takes a deep breath and starts heaving it in and out quickly like she’s trying to make herself hyperventilate. “You sounded like that.”

Kentarou just stares at her. “Oh.” He gets up suddenly and ruffles her hair. “Well, I’m okay now, you helped me fix it.”

“Let’s finish the movie,” Yue says, reaching for his other hand to tug on his arm.

“In a minute,” Kentarou grumbles, though he knows he really ought to put her to bed. “Go on back downstairs, I’ll be there soon.”

Yue leaves at last and Kentarou sighs and reaches up to run his hands over his hair. His fingers feel trembly and strange. When he looks in the mirror, his eyes and cheeks are red and he’s sweating. He runs his hands and wrists under the cold water until he feels calmer. Fine, so he’s still completely grossed out by Yahaba, but maybe he doesn’t blame the guy _quite_ so much. Whatever happened to him after the switch clearly wasn’t fun.

Not to mention the guy missed out on one hell of an orgasm.

Kentarou dries his hands and reaches into his phone for his pocket. Yahaba’s number is saved there from some unknown time past; for emergencies, maybe. Kentarou grits his teeth and sends him a message.

_u ok?_

He waits a few minutes, but there’s no response. Scowling, he tries again.

_wat hapunnd w u and yue_

Still nothing.

 _yamaha_  
_dont ignaw me_  
_*yahaba_  
_i dnt giv a shit abbowt wat i saw_  
_im not gona tel_

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Shigeru reads Kyoutani’s messages with difficulty. Even though he panicked in Kyoutani’s body, he seems to have brought some of the aftereffects back with him, and his hands are shaking so much that it’s difficult to hold his phone steady. Sighing in frustration, Shigeru puts down the phone and grips the edge of the bed with both hands. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Shigeru?”

It’s Sadashi. Shigeru looks down at himself and winces. He’s still just wearing a come-stained t-shirt, which is not really how he wants to open the door to his sister. “Just a second.” He reaches around for his pyjama pants, flips over the duvet to hide the mess, and exchanges the t-shirt for a clean one. “Alright!”

Sadashi pushes open the door and steps inside. She takes two steps towards him, then pauses and wrinkles her nose. “Were you jerking off?” she asks, frowning.

Shigeru just replies with a shrug.

“Hey, what's wrong?” Sadashi asks, coming close to him. She lifts her hands to cup his face. “Shi-chan, what is it?”

He shakes his head, dislodging her fingers. “It—nothing, I—”

Sadashi’s mouth falls open and she sighs. “Oh, Shigeru,” she murmurs, before slipping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him down into a fierce hug.

Shigeru puts his arms around her instinctively, and when her fingers slip up into his hair to cradle the back of his head, his chest throbs with a startling sob.

“It's okay,” Sadashi murmurs, squeezing him tighter. “I've got you.”

Shigeru doesn't even know why he's crying, but it pours out of him all the same. He can't stop thinking of Kyoutani, of Yue following him upstairs to comfort him. When he tries to force his thoughts in another direction, he gets volleyball, and how he's been such a disappointment to the team as captain so far.

Sadashi just holds him tight while he cries into her shoulder, soaking the neck of her favorite t-shirt. The sobs come and go explosively, and he calms after a couple of minutes. His throat is raw and his sinuses are completely blocked up with mucus; he sniffs loudly as he pulls away.

“I’ll grab you some tissue,” Sadashi says with a rueful grin. She slips out of the room, returning a minute later with a grim expression.

“What is it?” Shigeru says thickly, reaching up to blow his nose.

Sadashi sighs. “They're arguing again.”

Shigeru pulls a face, and Sadashi slumps down beside him again. “What're they arguing about?”

“Who knows.”

He puts his arm around Sadashi’s shoulders and she leans heavily against his side, tucking her face into his neck. He rests his chin on top of her head.

“Are you okay?” Sadashi asks after a minute or so, her voice quiet.

Shigeru thinks about telling her. About everything. About the switching, and Kyoutani; he thinks he could tell her about the strangeness of finding oneself in an unfamiliar body, like walking into the house of a friend or neighbour and knowing the rooms, but finding the contents different, the people gone. Shigeru is sure that if anyone would understand him, it would be Sadashi.

“Sada-chan—”

The sound of their mother's voice ringing down the hallway makes them both jump.

“Sadashi! Shigeru!”

“What's that about?” Shigeru mutters darkly, letting his arm fall from Sadashi’s shoulders.

Sadashi groans. “Kichiro must be here already.”

“Ugh, why?”

“He's here for dinner,” Sadashi says, getting to her feet. “Ostensibly. Really, I think to make the two of us look sad in comparison.”

“Like we need the help,” Shigeru mutters, getting up and rooting around for something more presentable to wear.

Sadashi crosses to the door and calls back to their mother, but she hesitates before leaving and turns back to Shigeru. “You know, on the plus side,” she says, starting to smile in her terrifying way. “We can ask him about that teacher of yours.”

“He's not mine,” Shigeru replies, willing himself not to blush. “Don’t you dare.”

Of course, it’s Sadashi, so she dares.

When they reach the family room, Kichiro is loudly showing off about some deal he’s a part of at work, while their mother makes vaguely impressed noises and their father just looks disgustingly smug. Kichiro doesn’t deign to interrupt his story to greet them; he holds up a finger and gives them a small nod, as if he’s asking his assistant to wait before giving instructions about how he likes his coffee.

Shigeru catches Sadashi’s sleeve and leans in to whisper in her ear. "Remember when his girlfriend dumped him on Christmas Eve, and he cried?"

Sadashi turns to grin at him as she sits herself down in the loveseat, reaching for his hand to tug him down after her. Shigeru's grateful for the contact as he squeezes himself in beside her and snuggles in close. Sadashi is taller than most of her friends, and it's a squeeze for two long-limbed teenagers to fit together in the chair, but they're used to sharing close quarters.

"Shigeru, Sadashi," Kichiro says, finally letting go of his boring story to send the two of them a disapproving look. "I see you two are still living in each other's pockets."

"We did share the same womb for nine months, you know," Shigeru says, still feeling raw and snappish from the experience of the last hour or so.

"And the same room for ten years," Sadashi quips.

Their father tuts and Kichiro frowns. "Yes, as _children_ ," he says. The argument is old, and rarely expressed so directly between them, _especially_ in front of their parents. Kichiro must already have been on the subject before the two of them walked in.

Shigeru sits up a little in his seat. "Is there some reason I shouldn't sit next to my sister, nii-san?"

"Don't fight, boys," their mother says wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so let's have a nice meal together, alright?"

"Of course, Mom," Shigeru says sweetly, tucking himself into Sadashi's side again.

Kichiro flashes them a dirty look, but he leaves off harassing them and goes back to talking about himself instead until it's time to eat.

At dinner, the conversation veers around to the party that their parents are holding at the weekend. Shigeru tries kicking Sadashi under the table when she gets a certain look in her eye, but she ignores him as usual.

"Nii-chan," she says, latching on to the conversation when Kichiro starts talking about his college friends and their regular wine buff meetup or some similar bullshit. "Will you be bringing any of your friends to the party?"

Kichiro looks a little surprised at first. "Well, I--"

"I'm sure you mentioned it last time," Sadashi purrs, while Shigeru smothers a tiny giggle. He can't really find it in him to be annoyed with her, not when her performance is so impressive. Ever since Kichiro hit high school and became an insufferable jerk, he and Shigeru had constantly butted heads, whereas Sadashi had instead mastered the art of twisting him around her little finger. "And I thought it was an excellent idea to invite Akechi-san, or Uemura-san perhaps."

"Yes, Uemura-sensei teaches my prep class," Shigeru puts in, after a particularly terrifying look from Sadashi. He watches Kichiro's face as he considers for a moment. "My grades haven't been what they could be," Shigeru goes on in a penitent voice, which hopefully convinces their parents that he gives a shit. "But Uemura-sensei is an excellent teacher, I hope with his help that I can bring my work up to standard in time for exams."

"Hmm," Kichiro says, glancing from Shigeru to Sadashi. "That was a good idea, thank you for reminding me, Sada-chan. I'll check and see if they're still free--if that's alright, mother?"

She nods. "Of course! We should thank Uemura-kun for his help supporting Shigeru's study."

"Then it's settled," their father says, surprising everyone with his sudden contribution to the conversation. "Invite your friends, Kichiro."

With that, it's settled, and Shigeru can't help grinning at Sadashi's triumphant look across the table. At the same time, he's bubbling with anxiety and excitement. Still torn up from the mess with Kyoutani, but buzzing at the prospect of getting to talk to Uemura away from school. Sadashi kicks his shin gently and he can't even find it in him to scowl at her.

 _You're welcome_ , she mouths.

Shigeru laughs.

 

 

Prep school feels like more of a drag than usual the following Monday. Shigeru isn’t a bad student, but he’s not a particularly diligent one either. He learned young that he could get through most things without much effort, carried along by wit, intelligence and good fortune. But now that he’s in high school, his tendency to slack off when it comes to putting in the extra work is beginning to tell. Even worse, he’s distracted by the presence of Uemura in the room; has Kichiro asked him yet? Will he accept the invitation?

Watari scribbles out a note to him, and Shigeru is almost surprised to find it land on his notebook.

_everythin ok?_

Shigeru frowns. He glances across, but Watari has his eyes forward.

_sure why wouldn’t I be?_

Shigeru keeps his eyes forward while Watari grabs his pen and scribbles a response. He passes it along and Shigeru unfolds it eagerly under his desk.

 _ur still acting weird_  
_what the hells up w u and kyou??_

Shigeru can’t help the soft groan he lets out when he reads the words. He’s been doing his best _not_ to think about Seijou’s rabid dog; the last thing he needs is to be reminded of it when he’s supposed to be studying. After a moment’s consideration, Shigeru realises that he doesn’t have any better way to phrase that, and writes it out for Watari.

Uemura-sensei calls on Shigeru to answer a question just as he passes the note back to Watari. Shigeru sits straight up in his chair and tries to piece together the last couple of sentences he’d heard.

“Ah—the—that’s actually a trick question, sensei,” he stammers, knowing that he still sounds more confident than he feels. “They give an equal result.”

“Very good, Yahaba-kun,” Uemura says, looking surprised, and definitely a little impressed. “But please try and focus during the lecture.”

Shigeru smiles and bows apologetically before sinking back down in his seat. His cheeks are hot, and he quickly ducks his head back to his work to hide the flush. Reaching over, Watari pats his shoulder and makes sympathetic noises, mumbling something about Uemura being a jerk anyway.

“He’s not a jerk,” Shigeru mutters, though he might be, just a little.

 _u guys need to get over this shit_ , Watari writes to him while he's trying to catch up on the last five minutes of notes by reading over the shoulder of the girl in front of him.

Shigeru reads Watari’s scruffy handwriting and snorts.

 _He’s like a dog with a bone_ , he writes, scowling gleefully at the page as if he can pour out all of his frustration onto this scrap of paper and leave it behind when he goes. _Once he’s got it he won’t let go_

_let what go???_

Shit. _Good question,_ Yahaba thinks. He can’t exactly tell Watari that they keep finding themselves in each other’s bodies. He doesn’t even know how he would begin to try and explain.

_Beats me the guy’s an idiot. Can’t even have a conversation with him. Maybe I should get a whistle, bring some doggie biscuits to training._

Watari snatches the note off him before he’s done writing and makes a face. “Not cool,” he mutters, tossing the note back to Yahaba’s desk and going back to his note-taking.

Rolling his eyes at his friend—seriously, Shigeru needs to find some friends who are as much of a dick as he is—he unfolds the note and lays it flat over his work.

Then, he feels a shiver. “Oh no,” he murmurs. He grabs the note and tries to shove it at Watari. “Take it, take it!”

“No way!” Watari hisses, pushing him off.

And then it’s too late, and Shigeru blinks and finds himself blinking in Kyoutani’s body. He’s somewhere completely unfamiliar; a warehouse, maybe? He looks down and finds Kyoutani dressed in grubby overalls and thick work boots. This must be his part time job.

“Kyoutani!”

Shigeru freezes. He has literally no idea what to do with this situation. A man with a grim expression is stalking towards him across the crowded floor, weaving between stacks of boxes. Shigeru can’t deal with bosses and crappy minimum wage jobs right now, too focused on what he’s just left behind him at prep school.

“I—I have to...use the bathroom?” he says weakly as the man gets closer.

The guy looks a little surprised, but he shrugs. “It’s your break already, kid, would you do me a favour and take it tonight?”

Shigeru’s eyes widen. “Uh—uh, yeah, sorry. Um, sir.”

At that, the guy looks _really_ surprised. “You okay, Kentarou-kun?”

Shit. They must know each other well. Shigeru can feel himself starting to panic.

“Fine,” he says quickly. “Fine! Just—really gotta go, yeah? I’ll be back. Soon. After my break.”

Before he can take more than three steps, Shigeru feels the telltale shiver once more, and blinks away his disorientation when he finds himself back in his seat beside Watari.

“Hey,” Watari whispers, leaning in and giving him a curious look. “You okay?”

Shigeru nods, swallowing down the sick feeling in his throat. He looks down. The horrible note is where he left it, right on top of his lecture notes. At the bottom of the page is one word, in handwriting that does not quite match his own.

_Woof_

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Kentarou has never really hated anyone. He'd like to sometimes. Oikawa comes pretty close, and some of the kids who'd bullied him in middle school. But Aunt Chika has always tried to teach him and Yue to think very carefully about who they expend their energy on hating or loving.

“They both take a lot out of you,” she said once, after Kentarou got into a fight at school. “But at least love usually gives something back.”

Kentarou doesn't hate Yahaba because he doesn't want to spare the energy hating a stuck-up, rich-boy, cream puff, but he feels like it would be satisfying if he did.

He had two missed calls from Yahaba when he finished his shift the night before, and a couple of messages that he deleted without reading. He definitely caught the word sorry in there, but he doesn't much want an apology from someone who thinks it's okay to talk shit about him until they get caught.

Kentarou skips morning practice to stay behind and take Yue to school instead, determined not to look at Yahaba's irritating face until at least afternoon practice. It goes fine until he retreats up to the roof at lunchtime. Nobody else is likely to brave the cold weather and sit exposed to the wind, but he hasn't been there more than five minutes before the roof access door opens.

Kentarou sighs, determined not to turn around. He's hoping for first years, or maybe a couple of third years who just want to fool around. Maybe, if he ignores them, they'll ignore him right back.

“Kyoutani.”

Or not.

Kentarou snorts and leans forward to hook his fingers into the chain link fence that borders the roof. He tugs against it, watching the pressure turn his knuckles white.

“Woof woof,” he says without bothering to turn around, because he might be above hating Yahaba, but he's not above being a petty asshole about it.

“I want to apologise.”

Kentarou shrugs. “You did that already, right? I didn't read the messages, but let’s call it even.”

Yahaba makes a frustrated sound, and Kentarou can't help smirking a little. He knows that noise; it means that Yahaba is barely hanging onto his composure, and the thought cheers him slightly.

Kentarou registers the footsteps a second before Yahaba grabs his shoulder to spin him around, his fingers digging in hard through Kentarou’s jacket. He tenses, ready to duck or swing back if Yahaba tries to hit him, bringing his hands up instinctively to shield himself.

“What do you w—” Yahaba snaps, before quickly cutting himself off. He looks down at their positions, at his own hand in Kentarou’s jacket and sighs, letting go with a regretful expression. “Look, it might not mean anything to you, but I am sorry about what I wrote.”

Kentarou bites the inside of his cheek. Only someone as self-involved as Yahaba could think that he could talk that way about another person and it wouldn’t matter to them. He wants to shove Yahaba face first into the fence, but he sticks his hands in his pockets instead.

“I—was angry, and—” Yahaba looks away, colouring slightly. “I was...embarrassed.” He shakes his head slightly, soft fringe flopping in his eyes. “I’m—I’m really sorry for what I wrote. I didn’t mean it, I was just—” Yahaba sighs and looks up finally, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “I was a dick.”

For a long moment, Kentarou stares back at him. Half of him wants to run, to climb the fence and throw himself to freedom from Yahaba's intent gaze. The other half still wants to shove Yahaba into the fence, and for a split second he's tempted to do it, but he remembers too well the one fight he had back in first year and why he's always avoided doing it again. He can’t help being annoyed at Yahaba for tarnishing his record.

“Yeah,” he mutters at last. “You were a dick.”

To his surprise, Yahaba actually smiles. “It's what I'm good at,” he says, shifting his weight comfortably while he tugs his school bag off his shoulder. “I mean, I'm good at everything, but that's the thing I have the most practice at.” He glances at Kentarou, as if to confirm this. Kentarou just shrugs.

“Why were you embarrassed?” he asks, the words tumbling out before he can reconsider their wisdom.

Yahaba straightens up from rustling in his bag and looks at Kyoutani with wide eyes. “Are you—is that a...joke?” he asks, a little hesitant. Defensive, Kentarou realises.

“Because I saw your dick,” he says, trying to ignore the way the tips of his ears get hot.

Yahaba finches slightly, then his expression breaks with a crooked smile. “No,” he says, his eyes warm with amusement. “I mean, kind of, but you must have seen it a few times by now.”

Kentarou shrugs, and Yahaba sighs before speaking again. He brings one hand up and touches his temple with his fingertips. “Ah,” he says softly. “I...freaked out a bit, after that happened.”

“With Yue,” Kentarou says, feeling as if something just clicked into place in his mind. He can remember clearly the way his body was trembling when they switched back, his hands shaking and his breath coming hard. “Sorry,” he mutters, glancing up at Yahaba. “I get it.”

Yahaba looks at him curiously.

“Sometimes…” Kentarou begins unwillingly, “I get—frustrated, when my body won't do what I want. Yue is...well she's seen me like that before, she's good at handling it.” He groans and turns to hook his fingers in the chain link again. “She shouldn't have to be.”

The two of them stand in silence for a minute, then Yahaba clears his throat. “Um, I actually have something else. In addition to the apology, I mean.”

Kentarou just grunts in response, not wanting to seem overly interested in anything Yahaba has to offer. He glances out of the corner of his eye and sees Yahaba pulling something from his bag. A bento box.

“I, uh. I noticed you don't bring lunch, I figured maybe—maybe you don't have time.”

Kentarou stiffens, struck by the realisation of just how much Yahaba knows about him now. Far more than anyone else in school.

“And you should eat,” Yahaba goes on, holding out the box. “You're an athlete, so. It's important.”

A momentary wave of suspicion passes over him; would Yahaba go so far as to poison him? Get him sick? He doesn't know that Kentarou is allergic to strawberries, though he probably ought to tell him if they're going to keep switching bodies indefinitely. What if Yahaba ate strawberries in his body and died? Would Kentarou be trapped as Yahaba forever?

“Go on,” Yahaba says, impatience creeping into his voice as he shakes the box at Kentarou. “I made it for you.”

Slowly, as though expecting it to bite him, Kentarou reaches out and takes the box from Yahaba's hands. He sits down on the low wall and prises off the lid. The contents make him snort with laughter. “You made this? It looks like you scraped it off the pavement.”

Yahaba colours, which is kind of cute and definitely cheers Kentarou up.

“It tastes better than it looks,” Yahaba snaps, folding one arm across his chest to hold his elbow. “I mean...probably. I don't cook much.” He winces. “Sorry.”

Kentarou ignores him and picks up the chopsticks Yahaba passed over with the bento. There are some suspiciously charred-looking objects mixed in with the rice and egg, but the chance of there being strawberries in it seems low, so he scoops out a bite and puts it in his mouth.

His first impression is complete and utter regret. Kentarou isn't fussy about what he eats, or even really about what he puts in his mouth full stop. But this is something else.

“Ack,” he says, or something like it, when he crunches down on a mouthful that shouldn't be crunchy, and something sharp pokes into his gum.

Yahaba is crouched in front of him with his arms folded on his knees, watching with wide, expectant eyes. He's biting his bottom lip, looking surprisingly anxious. “Um,” he says, when Kentarou catches his eye. “Is it okay?”

Kentarou winces and pokes at the offending splinter in his gum with the tip of his tongue. “Yahaba,” he says, meeting his eager gaze. “This is the worst thing I've ever eaten.”

“No—o,” Yahaba whines, putting his hands over his face.

It's a struggle not to laugh at him, but fortunately Kentarou is distracted by the weird peppery, charcoal-y taste in his mouth. “You tried.”

Yahaba peels his hands away from his face with a reproachful look. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, I can't cook.” His eyes flick to Kentarou's mouth, where he's jammed his fingers in to get at the shrapnel in his gum. Yahaba groans and grabs the bento off Kentarou's lap. “Fuck, I'm sorry, please don't eat any more.”

Kentarou chokes on his fingers, but manages to extract the shrapnel.

Yahaba blinks at him. “Wow, you have a really strong gag reflex—oh shit, is that eggshell?”

“It's fine,” Kentarou mutters.

“Oh, it's fine,” Yahaba says, a trace of hysteria in his voice. “I can't even fucking apologise without poisoning my ace, but that's fine.”

Kentarou snorts, a twisted part of him enjoying Yahaba's mortified expression.

Yahaba looks, if anything, even more shocked. “You—are you laughing at me?” he asks. One side of his mouth curls up slightly, softer than his usual smirk. “I don't think I've ever heard you laugh.”

“I've never seen you be shit at something,” Kentarou replies, a little gruff and nervous, but Yahaba's smile only gets bigger.

“You should tell my parents that,” he says.

Kentarou gets the impression Yahaba wouldn't be saying that if he hadn't already seen a little of Yahaba's home life, incidental or not. He realises that Yahaba is still watching him closely despite the easy smile, and just for a moment, Kentarou lets himself look back. Yahaba’s eyes widen again, his smile slipping.

“S—so,” Kentarou says quickly, to waylay whatever sappy shit Yahaba might have been about to come out with. If he has to listen to one more apology, he might puke. “Uh, who’s older? You or your sister?”

“Depends which one you mean,” Yahaba says, breaking off his gaze and pushing himself upright. He moves to the wall and sits down beside Kentarou. Not too close, but close enough that they could reach out and touch each other, if they wanted to do that.

Kentarou frowns at him.

“Sadashi is twelve minutes younger than me,” Yahaba says, stretching out his long legs with a sigh. He’s still holding the bento box in his hands and he fidgets with the lid while he talks. “But we have an older brother and sister too. Yori is married to some low-level politician, and Kichiro works for my dad.”

“Big family,” Kentarou mutters, feeling stupid but with nothing else to say.

Yahaba gives him that crooked smile again. “Sadashi and I were an accident,” he says, winking. “In case you couldn’t tell.”

Kentarou looks away, his ears burning. He turns his gaze down towards his own hands instead, curled loosely together in his lap. Yahaba's hands are much nicer than his own. Yahaba's fingers are long and slender, tapering prettily, his nails tidy. Kentarou's own fingernails are bitten to the quick, his palms rough and callused where Yahaba's are smooth despite how often he trains. It would piss him off normally; yet another example of how Yahaba's life is just a free ride. But today, for some unknown, dizzying reason, he wants to reach out and run his fingers over the creases of Yahaba's palm.

Kentarou curls his fingers, making fists to stop himself from reaching out.

“How old is your sister?” Yahaba asks him after a moment.

“Why do you care?” Kentarou turns and fixes him with a dubious look, and Yahaba's lips part slightly, his brow creasing.

They hold each other's gaze for a few moments, Kentarou's ears still burning, then Yahaba looks away. “I just...thought I should know,” he says, his mouth twisting unhappily. “What if...what if this never stops happening? I—look, I know I'm a shitty person, but I'm not a complete dick. If we switch sometime, and I'm alone with Yue, I want you to know that you can trust me to look after her.”

The words, and the sentiment, are so unexpected that it makes something tangle and pull fiercely in Kentarou’s chest. It’s like clouds parting, or some other stupid metaphor for something suddenly making sense; the realisation that Yahaba is real, is a person like him, who can be both a dick and a good guy, maybe. That he can make mistakes and, most surprising, that he can admit it. Kentarou doesn’t know if he could have done the same.

“She’s nine.” Kentarou’s voice comes out a little hoarse, and he swallows hard to clear his throat. “Her birthday is December first, it’s a week before mine.”

Yahaba blinks at him. “Mine’s March first,” he says, as if Kentarou had fucking asked. Still, the date clicks in his mind and he can’t help the little flicker of amusement that curls his top lip.

“You’re the youngest,” he says, starting to smile.

“Shut up!” Yahaba wails.

“We’ve put a baby in charge of taking us to nationals.”

Yahaba moans and puts his hands over his face. “Oh my fucking god, stop, you’re as bad as Shinji.”

Kentarou frowns. “You mean Watari?”

Yahaba nods, lifting his head again with a miserable expression. “His birthday’s the start of April.” He sighs, clearly exaggerating it for the story. “He’s almost a whole year older, why do you think he’s always bossing me around?”

Kentarou snorts. “You haven’t been bossed around in your life.”

Without warning, Yahaba jumps to his feet. “Fuck, I forgot.”

“Huh?”

“Lunch!” Yahaba says, reaching for Kentarou's arm but not quite touching it. “I might have poisoned you, and you still need to eat. I'm buying you lunch.”

Kentarou makes a face, digging his heels down against the floor. “No.”

Yahaba hoists his bag in the air, shoving the bento box inside it, before smiling sweetly. “As your captain, that's an order.” He glances over at Kentarou and frowns at his wary expression. Yahaba groans and the feigned sweetness drops off him. “God, I'm not asking you to sit with me and hold hands,” he sighs, frustration creeping into his voice again. “Would you just play along for once, Kyouke—Kyoutani-kun.”

The last thing Kentarou wants to do, apology or no apology, is stand in the cafeteria with Yahaba while the stuck up piece of shit pays for his lunch. But Yahaba is trying, and Kentarou _is_ hungry. “Fine,” he mutters, getting to his feet. “But we're not holding hands.”

Yahaba just stares at him for a second, then his face splits with a grin. “Was that actually a joke, Kyoutani-kun?”

Kentarou shoves him into the fence, just a little bit.

[link to artbychromo](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com/post/149719701641/yahaba-looks-if-anything-even-more-shocked)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** a character experiences a mild panic attack in this chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** in the end notes of the chapter

***

 

 

 

 

Pleased as he is to have made some kind of peace with Kyoutani at last, Shigeru is beyond ready for the week to be over.

He and Watari drag themselves to prep school on Tuesday evening, still weary and sticky from practice. Shigeru's bag knocks against his hip as they walk along quickly, the box he brought for Kyoutani's lunch smacking him each time. It's raining and they only have the one umbrella between them, which means they have to huddle awkwardly close to keep from getting wet.

“Are things okay now?” Watari asks while they're waiting to cross a road. His shoulder rests lightly against Shigeru's upper arm, a little patch of warmth in the cold, grimy evening. “You and Kyoutani seemed way more chill in practice today.”

Shigeru sighs, resigned to the fact that this is his life now; people chasing him about his latest mess with Kyoutani. “Things are _fine_ ,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We haven't punched each other all week, that's definitely progress.”

“Definitely,” Watari agrees in a placatory tone.

Thanks to rushing to get out of the rain, they’re a little early for the lesson to start when they arrive at the school building.

"Save me a seat," Watari says, giving Shigeru a gentle punch in the shoulder while he's shaking out the umbrella on the entrance mat. "I'm gonna get a soda."

"Grape," Shigeru says without looking up.

Watari snorts. "I didn't offer." He scoots off in the direction of the vending machines with a parting grin, and Shigeru smiles to himself, before bending to start pulling off his wet shoes.

"Oh, Yahaba-kun, hello there."

Shigeru's head snaps up quickly and he finds himself looking up into Uemura's attractive face. He's smiling down at Shigeru, though his expression has an edge to it; like they've shared a secret. "O—oh, Uemura-sensei," Shigeru says, struggling to keep his balance. He kicks his shoes aside and wills himself not to blush. "How are you?"

"Always better for seeing my favourite student," Uemura says, and Shigeru's insides twist pleasantly.

"Oh, really?" he says, straightening up slowly and leaning his arm against the locker. He may have been taken off guard, but he can do this. His hands are wet from shaking out the umbrella, and rain has splashed the bottoms of his uniform trousers, but he knows how to flirt. "Is it anyone I know?" Shigeru leans closer before Uemura can reply, and raises his hand to accompany his stage whisper. "Is it Chishu-san? The girl who rolls her skirt up?"

Uemura laughs and leans a little closer himself. "I can't say that I'd noticed what Chishu-chan does with her skirt," he says in a low, inviting voice. "There's a student in the middle row who's always distracting me from my lectures."

Shigeru's heart starts racing. This can't be happening. This can't _really_ be happening. He takes a deep breath and prays that Watari takes his time coming back from the vending machine. "Hmm," he hums, putting on a thoughtful expression. He tips his head and taps his chin with the tip of his index finger, hoping that Uemura will look at his mouth, maybe think of kissing him. "Would that be—" He can't think of any names, so he reaches. "Yamahata? Toyama maybe?" Uemura is shaking his head, his smile widening. "What about Oikawa? Matsukawa?"

To his delight, Uemura puts his head back and laughs. A shiver runs through Shigeru from head to toe and he forgets for a moment that he's standing on a damp smelly mat in wet socks, and that his hair is still sweaty from practice. Uemura has a funny laugh, kind of high-pitched and sharp where his voice is soft, but the line of his neck when he tilts his head back is tantalising.

"That was a good try," he says, the lingering amusement in his eyes making it clear that he knows Shigeru is bullshitting.

Shigeru grins. "Am I close?"

Uemura's laughter fades and he glances over his shoulder quickly before reaching up to tuck a loose strand of Shigeru's hair behind his ear. "You're closer than you think." He takes a step back, smiling softly, his eyes _burning_ Shigeru to ashes. "I'll see you in the lecture."

"You can't miss me," Shigeru teases, unable to help himself and yet totally clueless as to where these lines are even coming from.

When Uemura turns away with a little flick of his hand in salute, Shigeru forces himself to hold steady for a moment longer, until the coast is clear. When Uemura turns the corner, Shigeru lets out a heavy sigh and slumps against the lockers.

"Oh. My god."

"Hey!" Watari yells.

Shigeru jumps and turns around; Watari is sitting on a low wall on the far side of the entrance foyer. He gets up when Shigeru spots him and crosses the hall. He has a soda in each hand, and he passes one over.

"What was all that about?"

Shigeru swallows and wraps both hands around the cold bottle. "Ohh, nothing much. Uemura-sensei is friends with my older brother, he's supposed to be coming to my dad's party or something at the weekend. He just wanted to ask me something about the party, that's all."

"Right," Watari says, and Shigeru is struck once again by his friend's ability to make innocuous words sound uncannily like the word _bullshit_. "Just be careful, alright?"

"I—yeah," Shigeru says, a little thrown by Watari's concern. "Thanks, I will."

The lecture itself passes by in a daze. Shigeru spends the hour alternating between sending frantic texts to Tora and Sadashi, and trying to catch Uemura's eye while trying to seem like he isn't trying to do anything of the sort. It's hard work, and his notes are, unsurprisingly, a complete shambles by the end.

"You didn't hear a single word of that," Watari says when they start to put away their notebooks

Shigeru flutters his eyelashes at Watari, who snorts in response and rolls his eyes.

"Your new boyfriend is making eyes at you," Watari mutters.

"Shut up," Shigeru hisses, but he can't help glancing up to the front of the room. Uemura is talking to another student, a girl that Shigeru doesn't know. She's twirling a strand of hair around her finger, but Uemura is nodding and looking past her, right over her shoulder and straight at _him_. Shigeru makes a small, strangled noise and Watari groans.

"Just go and talk to him," he says, picking up his bag. "It's a terrible idea, if you want my opinion, which you clearly don't, so just go and say something."

"Like _what_?" Shigeru hisses.

Watari gives him a deadpan look.

"Fine," Shigeru sighs. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Watari says, raising his fist with a grin.

Shigeru makes a fist and bumps Watari's hand with his own. Then he goes back to putting his things away as slowly as he can, not going quite as far as to drop things on purpose, though he considers it.

He looks up again just once, briefly, and Uemura immediately catches his eye. He holds his hand up to the student speaking with him and smiles apologetically, before gesturing to Shigeru to wait for him. Shigeru nods, turning away before his carefully disinterested expression can crack and betray the childish glee that's currently bursting in his chest. Eventually, the girl with Uemura gives up and leaves, and Shigeru stops pretending to be busy with texting someone and picks up his bag.

"Yahaba-kun," Uemura calls out, as Shigeru walks along the row towards the door. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's not very responsible of you, Sensei," Shigeru says in his teasing voice. He glances over his shoulder as Uemura approaches and gestures at the empty lecture hall. "All my classmates have already gone home. Now I don't have anyone to walk to the station with."

Uemura smirks at him. "Are you afraid, Yahaba-kun? Would you like me to walk with you?"

Shigeru feels a little triumphant explosion in his chest and he shrugs, still affecting calm. "Only if you're going in the same direction, I don't want to be an imposition."

"Let me decide that," Uemura says, stepping closer to him. "There is something I need to discuss with you first, however."

Shigeru's heart starts to beat faster again, but he just moves to lean against Uemura's desk and tilts his head expectantly. He knows that he's being ridiculously disrespectful, but he doesn't think Uemura is going to call him on it. Or, if he does, at least let it be _fun_.

"You're sitting on my papers," Uemura says lightly.

"Am I?" Shigeru says, unconcerned. He settles his weight a little more, dropping his shoulders, his hands resting on the edge of the desk.

Uemura closes the distance between them. "May I?" he says, stepping in close so that their legs are touching.

Shigeru's eyes widen, and he draws in a quick breath when Uemura leans towards him. "Sensei—" he whispers, breathing in the scent of Uemura's aftershave and shampoo, letting his eyes fall closed. Uemura's fingers brush his hip and the inside of his elbow, making him shiver. His wrist slides against Shigeru's, and then he's gone again, pulling away. Shigeru opens his eyes and sees Uemura straightening up again with his phone held in his hand. Fuck.

"Forgive me," Uemura says, not even bothering to hide his smirk. He waves the phone at Shigeru. "I just need to text someone."

 _Don't say it_ , Shigeru tells himself, _don't ask_. But he can't help himself, and he blurts out, "Is it your girlfriend?" before he can make himself stop.

Uemura shakes his head, his eyes glued to the little screen. "We broke up."

"Oh, I—I'm sorry."

To his surprise, Uemura laughs softly. He looks up from his phone after a moment and gives Shigeru a calculating look. "No, you're not," he says, not unkindly.

Shigeru flushes. Fuck. So much for being cool, confident and in control. He glances at his bag, which he's left propped on the front row of desks a few steps away, and wonders if he could get away with just making a run for it. Maybe he could find a different prep school, or just give up on studying entirely.

"Do you always blush when your teachers tell you off?" Uemura asks, his voice amused but gentle.

Shigeru takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet Uemura's gaze. He wants to say something clever and flirty, something that will brush it off if Uemura really isn't as interested as he'd thought. But then there's a gentle pressure of a thumb tilting his chin, and the weight of Uemura's hand on his thigh, and the softest pressure of plush lips against the corner of his mouth.

"Ahh," Shigeru sighs quietly, his eyes falling shut once more. "Sensei—"

"Sorry," Uemura murmurs as he draws away again. His thumb and forefinger still cup Shigeru's chin gently, and when Shigeru opens his eyes he finds Uemura watching him intently, dark eyes warm and hungry. He brushes his knuckles along Shigeru's jaw, and tucks that disobedient scrap of hair behind his ear again. The touch makes Shigeru tremble; he feels like he's burning from the inside out, but before he can respond, Uemura sighs and pulls away. "I'm sorry," he says again. "We shouldn't do this here, I just couldn't help myself. You're irresistible."

To his horror, Shigeru colours again. He's certainly never been told that he's _irresistible_ before, and the corner of his mouth still tingles where Uemura kissed him.

"U—Uemura-sensei," he says, sounding stupidly breathless and pathetic even to his own ears. Shigeru isn't even sure what he wanted to say, but Uemura's words settle in his mind and he sets his chin. "I should get home."

"Yes," Uemura says, raising one eyebrow at him. "You should."

Shigeru hops off the desk, careful not to mess up Uemura's papers anymore than he already has, and reaches for his bag. "I'll see you next week."

As he walks away, he presses his fingers to his lips, remembering the sensation of Uemura’s soft mouth and imagining for a moment how Kyoutani’s chapped lips would feel instead. Shigeru shakes the thought out of his head and runs for his train.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Kentarou doesn't remember much about his parents anymore. Or rather, he remembers lots of inconsequential little moments, but most of the fabric joining them together has faded and frayed. One of the things he remembers most clearly is that they were always, always late.

“Go go go,” he yells, swinging Yue down from the bus and grabbing her hand. It's only two blocks from the bus stop to the swimming pool, but it's already almost time for her swimming lesson to start, and Kentarou still has to get her through reception and the changing room.

They run half a block until Yue loses a shoe. Swearing, Kentarou retrieves it and then swings Yue onto his back and piggybacks her the rest of the way, to Yue’s great delight. By the time Kentarou hustles them through reception, and waits impatiently outside of the changing room for Yue to wiggle into her swimsuit, they're almost five minutes late. The swim coach, however, just grins and waves when Kentarou ushers her into the pool, calling out a greeting before going on with his lesson.

Sighing with relief, Kentarou returns Yue’s eager wave, and slopes off to retrieve his sneakers and find somewhere to kill an hour until she's done.

“Kyoutani?”

Kentarou's shoulders tense and he turns, certain that this can't possibly happen _again_. Running into Iwaizumi at school at least makes sense, but this is ridiculous. Sure enough, however, Iwaizumi is standing a couple of meters away with his sleeves rolled up and his hands in the pockets of his loose jeans.

Kentarou swallows. “Iwaizumi-senpai.”

Iwaizumi smiles at him, his eyes crinkling, and takes a few easy steps towards him. “You here to swim?” he asks, tugging his hands from his pockets and resting his forearms on the railing of the pool viewing area.

“No,” Kentarou says. He realises after a moment that Iwaizumi is waiting for more, and he awkwardly joins him at the railing. “Uh, my little sister has a lesson.”

 

For some reason, Iwaizumi's smile brightens. “Mine too,” he says, his voice full of affection. “My brother I mean.” He lifts one arm to point down at the pool, and Kentarou leans over the railing to follow. “That's him, third from the right.”

Kentarou spots the kid Iwaizumi is pointing out; he's laughing with the taller boy beside him, his smile bright and infectious. “Oh,” Kentarou says, a little surprised. “Yue's actually beside him. My sister.”

“The one with the bright pink swimsuit?”

Kyoutani nods.

The swim coach is lining them all up now on the side of the pool. Kentarou watches Iwaizumi’s brother scramble to keep his place beside the taller boy, laughing again while he pushes his wet hair out of his eyes. It’s only Yue’s second time and she looks nervous, but then Iwaizumi’s brother touches her arm and says something that makes her laugh too. Kentarou feels some tension release that he didn’t even know was there.

Beside him, Iwaizumi laughs. “She's taller than Chiakkun, poor kid. He's convinced he's never gonna grow.” He looks up at Kentarou, grinning. “He's best friends with Oikawa's nephew. That’s Takeru on the other side of him. He’s easily got five centimetres on Chiakkun.”

Kentarou smiles, remembering his own childhood desperation to grow taller, faster. “I'm sure your brother will catch up.”

“Yeah I think he's just worried he won't be tall enough for volleyball.”

That, Kentarou can empathise with. He remembers having the same worries himself, back when he first decided that he wanted to play. Even into middle school, he was so short until he hit thirteen and a half, and then he suddenly gained the handful of centimetres that everyone else had over him. He may not be the tallest on the team now, but he can hold his own.

“Wow, your sister's really fast,” Iwaizumi says, watching the kids start to swim their lengths.

Kentarou feels a burst of pride. “She wants to be a pro swimmer.”

“That’s great,” Iwaizumi says, smiling over his shoulder. “There’s some good schools nearby for swimming. And Kitagawa, where I went for middle school, they have a pretty good swimming programme. I used to swim too.”

“That’s the feeder school for Seijou?” Kentarou asks, frowning slightly. He recognises the name; at least three of the first years have come in from Kitagawa Daiichi, and doubtless there’ll be more of them next month.

Iwaizumi nods. “One of them.” He straightens up finally and stretches his arms over his head. Kentarou carefully doesn’t notice the way his t-shirt stretches across his shoulders. “Is your sister in for the whole hour? I'm just hanging around for Chiaki if you want to grab a drink while we wait.” When Kentarou hesitates, Iwaizumi drops an arm around his shoulders as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Come on, let your senpai treat you one last time.”

“Uh, sure,” Kentarou says slowly, then mentally kicks himself. “I mean...thanks.”

“It's fine,” Iwaizumi says, letting his arm fall free with a shrug. “I mean, I don't mind bringing him, but it's pretty boring if you're not in the water.”

Iwaizumi grabs his jacket and wallet from a locker, haphazardly juggling the things that fall out when he opens it and elbowing them back inside. He shoves a tiny pair of sneakers back in and slams the locker shut on them, apparently unconcerned that everything is going to tumble out as soon as he opens it again.

They walk outside together, the wind brisk on their faces. “How's club going?” Iwaizumi asks as they cross the street to a small, family-run café. “I think it's killing Oikawa not to check in every two days.” He sighs, pulling the door open and gesturing for Kentarou to go in first, adding to himself, “Like he doesn't have enough to do.”

Kentarou thinks of how jumpy and defensive Yahaba has been about his captaincy. He and Oikawa remind him of cats; assured of their own superiority and protective of their territory. He snorts at the thought of Yahaba’s reaction if Oikawa strolled into the gym next practice. “I'm sure Yahaba would love that,” he mutters.

“I bet,” Iwaizumi says, grinning at him. He grabs a table near the window that looks out at the park next to the pool, pushing one of the menus across to Kentarou as he takes a seat. “Are you guys still fighting?” he asks, giving Kentarou his _I’m-fucking-serious-about-this_ face. “If he starts anything again you have to tell Mizoguchi and Irihata-san.”

The idea makes Kentarou’s stomach turn slightly, but then he thinks of how… _normal_ things have been between him and Yahaba the past few days. “It's fine,” he says, picking up the drinks menu and turning it over without reading it. Iwaizumi looks like he wants to say something, and Kentarou finds himself adding, “I don't think he'll try it again.”

“Good.”

 

Kentarou thinks back to Yahaba’s apology and starts to smile. “He uh, made me lunch. To say sorry.”

“He did?” Iwaizumi sits back, looking stunned. “That's. Wow. I didn't see that one coming.” He smiles, his posture softening with his expression. “Was it good?”

Kentarou grimaces slightly at the memory. “It sucked.”

“But he tried,” Iwaizumi says, looking way more delighted than the occasion deserves.

“Yeah,” Kentarou acknowledges.

A waitress comes over to take their order, and Iwaizumi hesitates for a moment before ordering a hot chocolate.

“Do you want any toppings?” she asks, cocking her hip and giving him a pretty smile. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to notice, still poring over the menu as if it’s going to give him any answers. He groans, then he flattens the menu on the table with his palm. “Everything,” he says, giving the waitress a guilty smile. “Just put everything on it.” He glances at Kentarou and raises his eyebrow expectantly.

“Oh, uh—” Kentarou had wanted to order a banana milkshake, but hadn’t wanted to look like a little kid in front of Iwaizumi, expecting him to order something grown up and cool. Now he feels torn. “I—a milkshake, please?” he says, uncertainly. Iwaizumi beams at him.

“I kind of have a sweet tooth,” Iwaizumi confesses after the waitress leaves them. “I don’t indulge it all that much, but I figure, it’s cold as balls out. I might as well.”

He asks Kentarou questions while they wait for their drinks, about Yue, and his aunt, and tentatively inquires whether Kentarou has any plans for after he graduates.

“Work, I guess,” Kentarou says with a shrug. “I’m not really cut out for college.”

“Well, it’s not for everyone,” Iwaizumi says with a crooked smile.

Their drinks arrive a moment later, and Kentarou jumps when his phone vibrates just as the waitress sets down his milkshake. He reaches into his pocket for it, already worrying that something’s happened to Yue or Aunt Chika, but when he glances at the screen he’s surprised to find that he has a text from Yahaba.

The last messages in the conversation are the ones he sent after they switched at the weekend, when he caught Yahaba jerking off. They’ve switched a few times since then, but thankfully always in odd, quiet moments; in class, or when he’s lying in bed reading manga.

Kentarou mutters an apology to Iwaizumi and checks Yahaba’s new message.

_Are you free at lunch tomorrow?_

_why_ Kentarou replies.

He doesn’t wait long for a response. _I want to talk to you about something._

Kentarou frowns. He’s in the middle of trying to come up with a response when Yahaba texts again.

_I come in peace. Just hear me out, alright?_

“Is that him?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kentarou looks up quickly. Iwaizumi has cream on his top lip, and he licks it off with a guilty smile.

“Yahaba?”

Kentarou nods. “It’s...nothing. Team stuff.”

Iwaizumi pushes a marshmallow around his chocolate with a spoon. “I'm relieved that you're friends now.”

“I don't think we're friends,” Kentarou mutters, looking back at Yahaba’s message. “He's just stopped trying to punch me.”

“That's probably just as well, he's shit at it.”

“He really is,” Kentarou says, laughing. Iwaizumi looks pleased.

“Maybe you could be friends though,” he says thoughtfully. He rests his chin on one hand, glancing out of the window briefly before looking back at Kentarou. “What's stopping you?”

Kentarou shrugs. “He's Yahaba.”

“So?”

“He's sort of an asshole.”

Iwaizumi gives him a pointed look, letting his gaze just sit on Kentarou heavily for several moments until it begins to weigh him down, before he finally speaks. “He made you lunch,” he says, in a tone that makes it clear he thinks his point is obvious.

 _Well I don’t fucking get it_ , Kentarou thinks angrily. He bites his tongue and turns away, looking out at the bare trees.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says after several moments, his voice annoyingly gentle. “It’s none of my business, I’m sorry for pushing you.”

“It’s fine,” Kentarou mutters.

“For what it's worth,” Iwaizumi says gently. “He keeps good company.”

Kentarou gives him a sharp look, but Iwaizumi doesn't flinch. He isn't smiling, but his expression is soft and serious.

“Yeah,” Kentarou mutters, looking down at his milkshake, his heart racing. “I should—I gotta reply to him.”

Iwaizumi nods, sitting back in his chair with a soft smile.

 _ok_ , Kentarou texts back. _wen +wear?_

_Let’s meet in the clubroom, nobody will be using it_

_fine_

“Everything okay?” Iwaizumi asks when Kentarou straightens up again, tucking his phone away.

“Yeah.”

They pass another thirty minutes or so talking about movies and manga and stuff, until it’s time to go back and collect the kids.

Kentarou slips his shoes off again to go down and meet Yue by the pool, surprised when he finds her chatting loudly with Iwaizumi’s little brother. Yue is usually quiet the first time she meets new people, though if you stick around long enough, she’ll never stop talking.

“Nii-chan!” she yells when she spots Kentarou, grabbing the boy’s wrist and tugging him over. “Nii-chan, look!” She pushes the boy in front of Kentarou. “This is Chiakkun.”

“N—nice to meet you, onii-san,” Chiaki says in a tiny voice.

Kentarou attempts a smile. “Uh, hey, uh, Chiakkun,” he says awkwardly, glancing around for Iwaizumi, who he seems to have lost in the locker room. “I go to school with your brother.”

Chiaki’s eyes widen, shining in the funny fluorescent light. “Do you play volleyball too?” he asks in a reverent tone.

“Uh, yeah—”

“He’s so good!” Yue interrupts, grabbing for Kentarou’s hand. “He’s gonna be the ace!”

“My brother’s the ace,” Chiaki says, drawing himself up proudly and sticking out his chest. “He—”

“Chiakkun!”

Iwaizumi strides up to the group, a colourful towel slung over one shoulder and a child-sized backpack over the other.

“Nii-chan!” Chiaki yells, bouncing excitedly. He grabs for the towel and Iwaizumi lets him take it. “I got a really good time, Coach says I can join the advanced class soon!”

“Is that so?” Iwaizumi says, grinning as he reaches out to ruffle his brother’s wet hair. “Good job, kiddo.”

“Yue-chan is really fast too!” Chiaki goes on, beaming at her. “This is my brother, he's Hajime,” he says, snaking one hand out of his towel to grab Iwaizumi’s wrist. “He’s really really good at volleyball, and he’s really fast at running too, and—”

“Alright, tiger,” Iwaizumi says, laughing as he puts a hand over Chiaki’s mouth. “Maybe you and Kyoutani's sister can practice together sometime,” he adds, looking to Kentarou for confirmation.

“Uh—yeah, maybe,” Kentarou says, awkwardly. Yue leans against his arm, dripping on his sleeve, and he feels stupid for not fetching her things from the locker first like Iwaizumi did. “Um, we should get home.”

Iwaizumi nods and ruffles Chiaki’s hair again. “So I'll text you, about swimming?”

Kentarou glances down at Yue. She nods enthusiastically and he smiles. “Okay, yeah.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi says, his smile the same cute megawatt grin as his brother, just without the missing teeth. “And maybe you can come check out the volleyball class sometime.”

“Yeah,” Kentarou says, feeling himself smile back. “Maybe.”

Iwaizumi reaches over and scoops his brother up with an arm around his waist. “C'mon kiddo,” he says, hoisting him up under his arm. “Let's get you dressed.” Chiaki screams with laughter and Kentarou forces himself to look away give his attention back to Yue. She beams up at him, and Kentarou feels himself smile in response.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Shigeru is early to the clubroom, racing there as soon as the bell rings to get everything set up. He picks at his bento while he waits for Kyoutani, feeling anxious and on edge, like he's waiting to take a test, or for a date to show up. He reads through his notes from prep school, trying to make sense of them, but he feels just as distracted as he was the other night, in Uemura’s lecture.

Shigeru sighs and puts a piece of salad in his mouth, making a face at the taste just as the door finally opens. It slams back against the doorstop and shudders, and Kyoutani steps inside, already shrugging off his jacket.

Shigeru chokes on his salad.

"What's wrong with you?" Kyoutani asks, pausing in the doorway to squint at him.

"Nothing," Shigeru coughs, lifting his head to squint at Kyoutani's silhouette in the thin sunlight. “Where were you?”

Kyoutani grunts and chucks a bag onto the bench beside Shigeru. “You told me I had to eat. I got lunch.”

Shigeru sits up straight. “I...did say that,” he says, looking up at Kyoutani curiously.

Kyoutani kicks off his shoes and sits cross legged in the middle of the floor, reaching for his lunch and gesturing for Shigeru to get on with whatever he brought him here for.

“S-so,” Shigeru says, pushing his bento away and slipping down to join Kyoutani on the floor. “I have an idea, and…” He trails off and bites his lip.

Kyoutani looks unimpressed. “What?” he says with his mouth half full, sounding impatient. “You wanna do extra practice or something?”

Shigeru shakes his head. “It's not about volleyball.” He takes a deep breath and sighs heavily. “Okay, look, just—just don't be offended, or whatever. I want to help.”

Kyoutani's face screws up momentarily, but Shigeru is getting used to reading his expressions and he doesn't look annoyed, just confused. Kyoutani swallows, watching him expectantly. “Okay, what?”

“Well, I talked to my friend Tora, that's Umeki Tora, she's in class three.” Shigeru waits for a moment, but Kyoutani doesn’t say anything or give any sign that he recognises the name, so Shigeru presses on. “Well, she has dyslexia, and I noticed that you—I think you find it hard to read things sometimes, right?

The change Shigeru's words bring over Kyoutani is startling. His eyes widen for a moment and then narrow quickly, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown and his gaze darting away to the side. His shoulders curl inward, exaggerating his slouch, and when he speaks again his voice is gruff but quiet.

“So what.”

“I want to help,” Shigeru says again, quiet and firm. He pulls his bag closer and tugs out the things Tora let him borrow.

Kyoutani eyes them with a doubtful expression. “What’s this,” he mutters tonelessly.

Shigeru is surprised to find the marked difference in Kyoutani's voice between now and when he walked in the room, surprised mostly that he can recognise it.

“Tora struggles to read and write quickly,” he says in a calm, clear tone, probably sounding like a teacher, but hopefully not enough to piss Kyoutani off. “She says the words kind of—” He pauses, gesturing with his hand, “—move around the page.”

Kyoutani's eyes flick up to him for a moment, curious and calculating, but then he looks away again.

“Um, so I did some research,” Shigeru goes on, gathering his courage. “And—oh, Tora is dyscalculic too, that means she struggles with numbers?”

“So your friend is dumb too,” Kyoutani mutters, still looking at the floor. He picks at a tiny loose corner of linoleum with his fingernails. “Is that what you wanted me to know? That the great Yahaba will even be friends with idiots?”

“Tora’s not an idiot,” Shigeru snaps, surprising himself. He sighs and takes a breath. “And neither are you, Kyoutani. That's what I'm trying to explain. It's—it's a condition, like needing glasses or something. It's not good or bad, it just is.”

“What’s your point?”

Shigeru shakes his head and continues to pull the things out of his bag. “Here, you’re studying this book too, right?” he says, grabbing the handouts from Japanese Lit. He spreads the sheets of paper on the floor between them, turned so that Kyoutani can read them. “Could you read this last paragraph?”

Kyoutani’s mouth tightens briefly, but he obediently leans forward and starts to read the paragraph. As with the magazine the other day, his lips move slightly, sounding out the words as he reads them. His frown deepens.

“Is it difficult?” Shigeru prompts quietly.

“It’s fine,” Kyoutani snaps. “I’ll get it.”

Shigeru pulls over a sheet of thin, coloured plastic and carefully lays it over the handout. Kyoutani’s finger hovers near the edge of the page and their hands brush for a second.

“What’s this for?”

“Try reading it again,” Shigeru says, leaning back to give Kyoutani space. “Tora says, um—sometimes it helps, if the page isn’t white.”

Kyoutani looks unconvinced, but when he leans down again he doesn’t look so troubled. He moves his finger to the edge of the text again, lingering over certain sections.

“Do you ever use a ruler?”

“Sometimes,” Kyoutani murmurs.

Shigeru digs one out and holds it out. Kyoutani hesitates for a moment before accepting it, laying it against the coloured sheet to help keep the lines of text distinct.

“Better?”

Kyoutani shrugs, but his troubled expression continues to ease as his eyes move back and forth over the text.

“Why’re you doing this?” he asks eventually, looking up at Shigeru.

Shigeru chews the inside of his cheek. He’s wondered the same thing himself several times over the past few days. The thing is, he doesn’t like to be wrong, and he doesn’t want to admit that he was maybe wrong about Kyoutani being stupid, or useless, but the other side of that is that he can’t stand the idea of _being wrong_ about it. He’d rather admit his mistake than stay wrong.

“Because I was an asshole,” Shigeru says after a minute’s consideration. “Am, I mean. And I’m lazy, and I could have tried to get to know you, but instead I’ve treated you like...like you’re worthless, and stupid, and you’re not.” He takes a deep breath, looking away to hide the thickness of his voice. “You’re not any of those things, and I...I don’t want you to think I believe that you are.”

Kyoutani is quiet for several moments. “So,” he says at last, slow and uncertain. “This is another apology?”

“Sort of,” Shigeru says, turning to look at him finally. Kyoutani's eyes are bright, his face open and curious. “I—I think I have some idea of why you feel frustrated a lot of the time. I just want to help.”

“Why?” Kyoutani asks, determined as ever not to let it drop before he's satisfied. “Why do you even care?”

Shigeru's breath rushes out of him in an angry huff. “I told you, alright? I'm not a _complete_ bastard. I saw a way I could help a friend and I wanted to do it, that's all.”

Kyoutani looks slightly startled by his outburst, not that he should be surprised by Shigeru yelling at him anymore.

“So you think I'm this—what's it called, what your friend has?”

“Dyslexia,” Shigeru says, grateful for the change of subject. “And dyscalculia. One means trouble with words and the other one means trouble with numbers.” He shuffles closer and picks up the handout with its colourful overlay. “You can have both, or just one, but I thought—I dunno, it seemed to make sense.” He looks up at Kyoutani's wary expression and forces himself to smile encouragingly. “It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you, it just means you learn in a different way, that's all. It's like—”

“Like needing glasses, I got it,” Kyoutani says quietly.

Shigeru grins. “Exactly.”

Kyoutani holds his gaze for several moments, just long enough that it starts to feel uncomfortable. They're sitting very close together, Shigeru having shuffled in closer than he realised, and Kyoutani leaning towards him. He can feel the barest touch of Kyoutani's even breaths against his cheek, the warmth of their thighs touching. Kyoutani swallows, tongue wetting his lips for a second before his throat bobs audibly.

“Do you think—” Kyoutani mutters, tearing his gaze away at last to look down at the space between them. “Forget it.”

Shigeru presses his knee into Kyoutani's thigh. “What is it?”

Kyoutani shakes his head quickly, but he still looks troubled, so Shigeru waits.

“You said—it's not my fault, right? It's not—not because I'm slow?”

“You're _not_ slow,” Shigeru insists firmly. “I looked at the stats you've been keeping for Coach Mizoguchi. You're smarter than you think, you know.” He smirks. “You're just stubborn as hell.”

Kyoutani glances at him. “You'd know something about that.”

“Eh,” Shigeru murmurs, shrugging.

“Does it—” Kyoutani begins awkwardly before cutting himself off. He takes a breath and tries again. “I know you know I'm...clumsy, and stuff. Sometimes, it's like. Like my body can't catch up to my head.” He wrinkles his nose, looking unsatisfied maybe with the way he's explained it, but then he turns to Shigeru with a hopeful cast to his eyes. “Is that...like the same thing?”

Shigeru frowns. “I don't know. I'll be honest, I'm mostly going off what Tora told me, and some really half-assed Google searching.” He gives Kyoutani a sheepish grin. “I really hate research. We could look it up some more though, if you want.”

“I guess,” Kyoutani mutters with a shrug.

Just as Shigeru is trying to find something reassuring to say, he's interrupted by the distant chime of the school bell. He sighs and starts to gather up his things. “We can talk about it later?” Shigeru suggests, feeling unaccountably nervous. “I, um, thought I could help you study.”

Kyoutani looks at him steadily.

“Ah, to be honest,” Shigeru mutters, running his fingers through his hair. “I could use the excuse to study. I’ve kind of fallen behind. With everything that’s been going on…” He sighs and straightens up, looking Kyoutani in the eye. “I just haven’t been working very hard.”

“Fine,” Kyoutani says after a long pause. “When?”

Shigeru perks up, the response taking him by surprise. “Uh, Saturday?” he suggests, forgetting for a moment about the party in the evening.

“I have to look after Yue,” Kyoutani says gruffly, picking up his bag. “But—you can come over, I guess. If you want.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shigeru says, sounding surprisingly enthusiastic to his own ears. “Let me know what time? Oh, I have plans in the evening.”

Kyoutani snorts. “Of course you do,” he says, but his tone isn’t mean, and Shigeru catches the hint of a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** In the first scene there is some flirting/consensual kissing between Yahaba and Uemura, who is 25.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*¯ ³¯*)♡
> 
> Thanks for being patient! The last little bit of the story has given me a bit of trouble but it's almost complete now. There should be one more chapter but I *might* have to split it into two. We'll see. Either way, I'm really sorry about this one.
> 
>  
> 
>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains some elements that may be upsetting, please check out the end notes for details.

 

*******

 

 

 

 

Kentarou is woken early on Saturday, and dragged out of bed at Yue’s insistence. Yahaba isn't due to arrive until eleven, so the two of them go out to the park, walking home via the local convenience store so that Kentarou can pick up some ingredients to make lunch.

“Do all your friends play volleyball?” Yue asks as they leave the store, Kentarou holding a bag of groceries in one hand, and Yue’s hand in the other. She has been asking questions about Yahaba incessantly all morning, very few of which Kentarou has the answers to. Thanks to their body switching he can, at least, answer a few more than he would have otherwise.

Yes, Yahaba plays volleyball; no, he’s not a spiker, he’s the setter; he didn’t used to be very friendly but he’s nicer now; yes he’s got brothers and sisters, he’s even got a twin; yeah twins are really cool...and so on.

“No,” Kentarou says to her last question. “Not all my friends play volleyball.” He does a quick mental tally, of people he thinks he could actually count as friends. “Most of them do though.”

When they get home, he sends Yue to do her homework, and brings his own work down to the front room. He rearranges it twice on the coffee table

Yahaba arrives early, the doorbell surprising Kentarou so much that he kicks the table in his hurry to stand, spilling his glass of water. It soaks his exercise books, and Kentarou hesitates for a moment, torn between answering the door and rushing for a towel before his work is beyond saving. He heaves a weary sigh and turns to yell up the stairs.

“Yue! Get the door!” he yells on his way to the kitchen. Her footsteps thunder down the staircase a moment later, and Kentarou keeps half an ear out for the sound of her opening the door to Yahaba. Yue’s cheerful voice echoes along the hallway and Kentarou grabs a kitchen towel and hurries back to salvage his school books.

“Nii-chan’s in here!” Yue announces after a minute of her muffled chatter in the hallway, sliding open the door and dragging Yahaba inside by his wrist. Kentarou would be amused if he wasn't so busy being annoyed with himself. Yue beams at him regardless, and deposits Yahaba at the edge of the table.

“Here you go, onii-san!”

“Uh—thank you, Yue-chan,” Yahaba says, looking more awkward than Kentarou has ever seen him. It's pretty refreshing.

“You okay there?” Kentarou asks once Yue has disappeared again to do her homework.

Yahaba shrugs off his awkwardness, slipping gracefully into a kneeling position and setting his school bag down. “It's just weird. First time I've seen her since...you know.” He rubs his wrist thoughtfully. “She's really friendly.”

“More friendly than me you mean.”

Their eyes meet and Kentarou attempts a smile so that Yahaba will know he's kidding.

“You have your moments,” Yahaba replies with an easy shrug. His smirk makes Kentarou shudder pleasantly, but then Yahaba looks down at the mess of the table and the content feeling disappears. “What happened here?”

“Nothing.” Kentarou pulls a damp exercise book away from Yahaba's side of the table and blots it with the kitchen towel. “It's just water.”

“Alright then. What do you want to work on first?”

By mutual indifference they end up tackling their science homework first, because it happens to be at the top of the pile. They stay seated at the low table even though the kotatsu is broken, and Kentarou is careful to keep to his own side so that their knees don't touch.

Yue interrupts them after about half an hour, proudly bearing a plastic tub of leftovers from the cookies she baked for school the day before. When Kentarou reaches for one, she squawks and bats his hand away.

“You've already had loads, nii-chan!” she scolds, which is an unfair accusation, but whatever. He shrugs when she holds the box out to Yahaba instead. “You have to try one, onii-san!”

“Oh, um, thank you.” Yahaba glances at Kentarou briefly before helping himself to a cookie. He takes a bite of it and his expression softens, taking on a warm smile that makes him look like the good guy he could be if he tried. “It's really good, Yue-chan. Did you get these from a professional chef?”

Yue laughs and shakes her head.

“No?” Yahaba looks thoughtful as he takes another bite. “Are you sure? This tastes like a real professional made it.”

“I made them!” Yue announces, flushing with pleasure.

Yahaba does a fairly convincing impression of looking thoroughly shocked. He turns his disbelief on Kentarou, who can't help smiling at Yue’s delighted grin. “Meet the famous chef,” Kentarou says, reaching out to snaffle a cookie while Yue is distracted.

By the time Yue leaves again a few minutes later, blushing and giggling from Yahaba's teasing, Kentarou already knows that he will _never_ hear the end of this.

“Congratulations,” he says, eyeing Yahaba with grudging respect. “Even my little sister loves you.”

Yahaba grins. “She does not,” he says, fooling nobody.

“Yeah yeah.” Kentarou rolls his eyes. “So you can seduce an eight year old, don't get cocky.”

“Cocky?” Yahaba murmurs, raising one eyebrow along with his smirk. “Me?”

Kentarou scowls at him, because he refuses to let this asshole make him laugh again. “Homework,” he mutters, bowing his head.

They work quietly for a little while, but Yahaba seems to be taking his tutoring role seriously, because he keeps insisting on checking in with Kentarou. It's infuriating at first—kind of embarrassing—and eventually Yahaba sighs and shifts all his things around one corner of the table so that they're sitting on perpendicular sides, their knees close enough to touch.

“What're you doing?”

“I can't help you from all the way over there,” Yahaba says with a surprising degree of patience. He tugs Kentarou's book towards him slightly and leans over so that he can read it.

Kentarou clears his throat and tries to ignore him. It's not very successful.

Yahaba leans into him for a moment to point something out on the page. Their arms and thighs press together through their clothes, and Kentarou spends a few seconds enjoying the heat of Yahaba's body before remembering that he's supposed to be paying attention to the explanation.

“Did you get that?” Yahaba asks, with only a hint of his usual impatience.

Kentarou frowns. “Uh, yeah?”

Yahaba just shrugs, gives him a half smile, and starts to explain it again. He's still sitting close; Kentarou can smell his hair, the scent of detergent in his clothes. For one stupid, absurd moment, he wants to bury his face in Yahaba's neck and breathe in the warm scent of his skin, realising with a jolt how well he knows it now.

He scowls and forces himself to listen to Yahaba's explanation. When he's done, Yahaba leans away again and Kentarou gives himself a mental kick.

Kentarou doesn't want to sniff Yahaba. He doesn't want to sit close to him, or feel Yahaba's breath on the side of his neck again, and he definitely doesn't think about how close they were that horrible time they fought in the club room, or how it felt to have Yahaba on top of him.

It's one thing to feel fluttery when someone cool like Iwaizumi smiles at him. It's quite another to be thinking about Yahaba's knee pressed between his thighs.

“Does that make sense?” Yahaba asks, leaning in with concerned expression that really doesn't suit him. “I'm not sure if I explained it very well.”

“You did,” Kentarou says tightly, because he had, and Kentarou is equal parts grateful and annoyed about it.

Yahaba smiles at him and goes back to his own homework. Yahaba smiling at him seems to be turning into a regular thing, and Kentarou isn't so sure that he likes it. It's not exactly a nice smile, because nothing Yahaba does is really _nice_ , but it makes Kentarou's gut turn, and his palms feel clammy, and it also makes him want to punch Yahaba in the face. Maybe with his own face.

They work for a little longer, Kentarou doing his best to focus on his work despite the fact that Yahaba's knee keeps brushing against his leg under the table. Kentarou has never really shared the kotatsu with anyone besides Yue or Aunt Chika. He feels hot under the blanket, even without the heat working, and the more he tries to concentrate on his homework, the more his mind keeps wandering.

“Everything okay?”

Kentarou looks up in surprise. Yahaba is watching him, looking faintly amused.

“Yeah?” Kentarou murmurs in a defensive voice, sitting up straighter.

“You're just fidgeting a lot,” Yahaba says, shrugging. “It's cold in here though, I'm not surprised—”

“You're cold?” Kentarou interrupts, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

Yahaba pouts at him. “It's February,” he says, a little petulantly. “And your house is colder than mine, so—”

“Sorry about my draughty old peasant house,” Kentarou mutters as he looks away, feeling pretty petulant himself.

“What?” Yahaba splutters. “No, I—god, don't be an asshole, I just mean—because we live in an apartment. It naturally gets heated by the rest of the building, that's all.” Yahaba sighs and rolls his eyes. “It's basic thermodynamics, you know, heat rises et cetera.”

Kentarou keeps his eyes fixed on the far side of the table. “Oh. Yeah, I get that.” He curls his hands into fists under the table, before digging his knuckles into his thighs and pushing himself up. “I'll make tea.”

He allows himself a quick glance at Yahaba as he gets to his feet. Yahaba is practically shivering, and Kentarou has a little jolt that's part guilt, part shame at the thought of Yahaba being here. Halfway to the kitchen he stops and hesitates for a moment before turning and stomping back over to where Yahaba is sitting. As he crosses the room, Kentarou rips off his hoodie and shoves it at Yahaba.

“Uh—”

“If you're cold, put it on,” Kentarou mutters, wincing when he feels his ears get hot. “Or don't, whatever.”

While Yahaba splutters behind him, Kentarou stalks away again and hides in the kitchen for the time it takes to brew a pot of tea.

Whether Yahaba is just pretending to work or not, Kentarou can't tell, but when he comes back to the front room, Yahaba is buried in his homework.

“It's green,” Kentarou says, setting down the tray of tea things.

Yahaba leans back from the table and looks down at himself. “Uh, it looks red to me.”

Kentarou glances at him, then back at the tea, puzzled. Then he looks at Yahaba and stares. Yahaba is snuggled into his hoodie, his bare wrists poking from the sleeves where they're a little too short. Kentarou's gut seizes the same way it does when Iwaizumi smiles at him.

“The _tea_ ,” he sputters, fighting a furious blush. “My aunt, she likes—the only tea she gets is green.”

Yahaba blinks at him, then looks quickly away. For the second time that week, Kentarou watches the back of his neck turn red.

“Oh,” Yahaba says quietly. “Yeah, uh. Green is...green is fine.”

Kentarou resumes his seat and attempts the last question on his English homework.

“Sorry,” Yahaba says after a couple of minutes. “About—talking to you like you're an idiot.” He pushes his fringe back and sighs before dropping his elbows onto the table. “I feel like I'm apologising all the time.”

“Don't be a prick then.”

Yahaba snorts. “Yeah, I'm working on it.” He straightens up again and tugs at the cuffs of Kentarou's hoodie.

“Your arms are too long,” Kentarou says, frowning.

“Your sleeves are too short,” Yahaba returns without hesitation.

Kentarou's laughter surprises him, but he's more than rehearsed for this by spending time with Yue. “Your face is too short.”

Yahaba looks pained. “It's my curse,” he says mournfully. “You didn't need to point it out.”

Kentarou laughs again, and Yahaba positively beams at him.

“Long fingers though,” Yahaba says, seemingly to himself, holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers thoughtfully. “Do you think that helps with setting?”

“They’re not that long,” Kentarou says, reaching out with his right hand. He pushes his palm against Yahaba's left hand, spreading his fingers wide. “See? Same size.”

The prickle of Yahaba's gaze reaches him first, and Kentarou meets his eyes with a shiver that rolls down his spine. Yahaba's palm is cool against his own. Kentarou takes a breath, trying to think of what to say, but in the space of a blink he finds himself looking at his own face again.

“Shit,” Yahaba says, pulling his hand away and looking down curiously at Kentarou's bare forearm. “Right now?”

Kentarou drops both hands to his lap. It feels strange to go from sitting in a t-shirt to being wrapped up in his own hoodie, in someone else's body. In a way, though, he's almost getting used to it.

“You're _really_ cold.”

Yahaba looks almost triumphant. “I told you!”

Kentarou smirks and looks down at Yahaba's hands. “You wanna go practice?”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” Kentarou mutters, with a half hearted shrug. “I need a break from this. And—I mean, it's the first time this happened when we're not—in class, or, or in the middle of—whatever.”

“Whatever,” Yahaba says, looking at him steadily.

Kentarou shrugs again.

“Can you show me,” Yahaba says, his voice suddenly hesitant. “How you, uh—handle it, when—uh, when you—”

“When my body goes wrong,” Kentarou finishes for him, when Yahaba trails off awkwardly. “Yeah, fine.”

Kentarou gets to his feet, Yahaba's long limbs unfolding for him gracefully. They fetch their shoes from the genkan—Kentarou retrieves a pair of old sneakers and passes them to Yahaba—and then carry them through to the door that leads out to the untidy garden.

“There isn't really enough space to hit serves out here,” Kentarou mutters, stepping into Yahaba's shoes and bending down to tie the laces. “Sometimes I just slam it against the fence, but the neighbour complained, said I was upsetting her dog, so I stopped.”

Yahaba glances at him as he straightens up from pulling on Kentarou's sneakers. “You like animals, don't you?”

Kentarou shrugs. “Who doesn't like animals?”

“Well, I don't know,” Yahaba says, starting to laugh. Kentarou doesn't like the way it looks, Yahaba laughing with his face, his voice. “People with allergies maybe?” he continues, obviously pushing for a reason.

Kentarou reaches out and grabs Yahaba's shoulder. “Come on,” he says, shoving him into the garden and ignoring his yelp of protest. There's a volleyball lying abandoned by the door, and Kentarou scoops it up and tosses it to Yahaba in one smooth movement.

Yahaba makes a funny squawking noise again, which is not a noise Kentarou needed to know his body could make, and fumbles the ball.

“Okay, okay,” Kentarou says, catching it and bouncing it once on the paving slabs. “Yeah, I'm kinda slow today. I mean—my body? So, you'll have to take it easy I guess.”

Yahaba folds his arms and nods. “Okay.”

“I—don't really don't how to tell you what to do,” Kentarou admits, spinning the ball between his hands as he thinks. “I can probably—show you, or...like, as it's happening, yeah?”

Yahaba nods again. “Fine.”

To Kentarou's surprise, Yahaba doesn't complain when he suggests they do some basic drills, the kind of stuff he's been running through with the first years, the non starters. He hits some gentle serves, making Yahaba move around to receive them, watching the way he stumbles and shakes it off. He's unable to stop himself from thinking about Yahaba watching him the same way when they're in the right bodies, wondering if he feels disappointment, pity, disgust.

Yahaba is clearly struggling. and Kentarou stops after a few minutes and crosses over to him. Yahaba is sweating despite the cold, his face red.

“It won't come if you force it,” he says, unwittingly mirroring Iwaizumi’s words.

“But—” Yahaba snaps, before cutting himself off. He looks away, obviously holding back something nasty.

Kentarou bites his lip for a moment. “I—I used to do this thing, to help me concentrate, and—to do things in the right order,” he says, and takes a cautious step forward. “Just...shut your eyes, okay. And don't be weird.”

Yahaba gives him a wholly unimpressed look, but he obeys after a moment and closes his eyes. Kentarou swallows heavily, then he moves closer again and puts his hands over Yahaba's ears.

Yahaba jerks in surprise, his eyes opening suddenly. Kentarou holds his gaze steadily, looking into his own eyes.

“What's this for?” Yahaba whispers. His ears feel hot under Kentarou's fingers

He moves his hands slightly so that Yahaba can hear him. “Count,” he says, flicking his eyes over Yahaba's expression on his own face. It's so completely different to looking in a mirror. “Count to thirty. And—try and, uh, focus on being in your body.”

“Your body,” Yahaba says quietly, the corner of his mouth quirking nervously.

“Yeah. Just, don't think about anything except breathing.” Kentarou furrows his brow. “I know it sounds weird, but try it.”

Yahaba closes his eyes again and Kentarou presses his palms over Yahaba's ears again. After a moment, Yahaba brings his own hands up to cover them, his hands warm over Kentarou's. His cheeks have gone a little pink, and his lips move as he counts silently.

Kentarou watches Yahaba's breathing slowly settle, his chest rising and falling. He looks at his own chapped lips and briefly thinks about his first kiss. Looking at himself, he can't see anything that would make someone want to kiss him.

“Thirty,” Yahaba says aloud, opening his eyes again. He drops his hands and Kentarou quickly snatches his own away. “That was...interesting.”

“It's a meditation thing,” Kentarou mutters. “My aunt taught me to do it.”

Yahaba nods. “I do, uh—I feel better, I think?”

Kentarou glances around for the ball. “Again?”

“Yeah.”

After a couple more drills, Yahaba takes the ball and spins it thoughtfully in his hands. “Can I try setting for you?”

Kentarou glances the meagre length of the garden and frowns. “We don't have space here.” His mouth twists unhappily. He wants to run and jump and spike and serve in Yahaba's body, just to feel it, just to see.

But what if he did it? Kentarou still doesn't believe that this body switching thing will last forever. He'll be stuck back in his own body soon enough, and he needs to stop pretending that he could have it as easy as Yahaba does.

“I gotta make lunch,” he says, because he can't say any of that, not to Yahaba. Not to anyone. “Yue will be getting hungry.”

Yahaba deflates somewhat, and Kentarou almost feels guilty. But then Yahaba smiles and shrugs, and walks back to the door. “I should get home soon anyway. My parents have this—this stupid party thing tonight. I wasn’t really supposed to go out today at all, but Mom was actually impressed for once when I told her I was tutoring someone.”

Kentarou makes a disgusted noise, and Yahaba laughs.

“I never said I told her the _truth_. At least if she thinks I’m tutoring you, she isn’t chasing me to get home.”

“I guess,” Kentarou mutters. He watches Yahaba linger over taking off his sneakers, even though they’re so old and worn that they ought to slip off no problem. “So, your parents don’t want you around, but they don’t want you going out either?”

Yahaba shrugs. “Pretty much.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

They trudge back inside, and Yahaba starts shoving his things into his bag. Kentarou sits awkwardly, watching him haphazardly pack things away.

“So, uh. I guess you’ll have to tell me how to get to your place from here.”

Yahaba groans and gives up on his books, dropping his back and settling back on his heels. “Fuck, I hate this.”

“The switching?”

Yahaba shrugs. “I guess,” he mumbles, and Kentarou is surprised by the sneaking suspicion that Yahaba’s talking about more than just the inconvenience of being stuck in Kentarou’s body for an hour. He has a strange urge to take Yahaba’s hand, or touch his shoulder, but he’s unused to comforting anyone other than Yue or Aunt Chika.

“You...uh, you can stay longer, if you need to.”

“That’s okay,” Yahaba sighs, but he looks up at Kentarou and smiles gratefully. “I guess I don't really want my body to go without me.”

Kentarou bites his lip. He’ll regret this in ten minutes. Shit, he’s already regretting it, but he still opens his mouth. “Maybe you don't want to go at all.”

For just a moment, Yahaba goes wide eyed, but then he turns away with a guilty look. “I do,” says, hedging. “Kind of, anyway.”

Something about the way he says it strikes a chord. And Kentarou doesn’t want to know, but he can’t help asking. “Meeting someone?” His voice is strangely deflated to his own ears. Pathetic.

Yahaba shrugs. “I should get going,” he says instead, getting to his feet. “Uh—I mean, you should. Sorry. I’ll look after Yue.”

“Thanks,” Kentarou says, swallowing down the dull hurt. He gets up and reaches for Yahaba’s school bag, but Yahaba holds it back.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Kentarou knows Yahaba well enough by now to recognise the danger in his voice, and he narrows his eyes briefly. “Alright.”

For a moment, Yahaba says nothing. Kentarou looks around at him, giving him a curious look. Their eyes meet and Yahaba’s mouth quirks in a nervous smile before he looks away again and licks his lips.

“Just—don't, uh, don't hit me, okay?”

Kentarou scowls. “I don't hit people.”

“I know,” Yahaba sighs. “I know, just. Fuck, okay, maybe I'm way off, but—"

He hesitates again and Kentarou groans. “Just say it.”

Yahaba nods. “Um, I saw you talking to Iwaizumi-san the other day.”

Kentarou's heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah, so what?”

“You two are close.”

“Not really,” Kentarou mutters, glancing away. A horrible silence falls between them and Kentarou knows, he _knows_ , the worst thing he could do right now is let Yahaba walk away without telling him. Maybe there’s nothing between them; maybe Yahaba is going off to screw some rich kid at the party, but Kentarou still doesn’t want to keep lying to him. “It's, uh,” he mutters vaguely, stalling while hoping that the right words will appear. “It's not—we're not anything. We're not even friends.”

Yahaba shifts his weight and puts his hands on his hip. “But you want to be something.”

“Not—not really,” Kentarou says, making a face. “It's like. A thing you think about having, but you don't expect to get it. And if you did, you wouldn't even know what to do with it.”

“Huh.” Yahaba is still looking his way, but it doesn't seem as if he's really looking at Kentarou anymore, his gaze passing right through. He jerks suddenly, as though startled, and it’s all the warning Kentarou gets before he’s blinking back in his own body. “Well, shit,” Yahaba says, looking down at himself. “That makes things easier at least.”

“Sure,” Kentarou grumbles. “So what's ‘huh’?”

“Hm?”

“Just now, you looked weird and you said ‘huh’.”

Yahaba shakes himself, drawing on his false persona again. “Oh, it’s just—I think that's the longest thing you've ever said to me without stopping.”

“I talk.”

“Not a lot.”

“Maybe _you_ talk too much.”

Yahaba shrugs. “Maybe.” He pulls out his phone and winces. “I should go.”

“Alright,” Kentarou says, following him through to the hallway. He sits on the staircase while Yahaba puts on his shoes and coat. “Um, have a good night?”

“I’ll try,” Yahaba replies with a wry smile. “You too, whatever you do.”

Kentarou gets to his feet, and Yahaba steps a little closer, practically leaning in close enough that Kentarou could kiss him, if he chose to. “Thank you, for telling me,” Yahaba says, low and solemn. His dark eyes seek out Kentarou’s, his gaze heavy and liquid in the dimly lit hallway. “It’s hard, being the only one.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Yahaba gives him a shaky nod, and before he turns away, he claps Kentarou on the shoulder, grasping it for just a moment before letting go again.

They say goodbye without lingering. Yahaba is long gone by the time Kentarou realises that he never got his hoodie back.

 

 

 

 

 

*******

 

 

 

 

 

Shigeru spends the afternoon after leaving Kyoutani's house in a bewildered daze. He barely remembers the train journey back to his house, and he can't figure out why Sadashi stares at him suspiciously while he's being scolded by their mother.

Finally free, he shuts himself in his room and stares at his homework again, but he can't seem to focus on it. Kyoutani's roundabout admission plays on his mind. Eventually Shigeru groans and puts his head in his arms.

There's a soft knock on his door, and then Sadashi’s voice as she steps inside. “Hey, what's going on?”

Shigeru groans again loudly. “How do you know,” he says, his voice muffled in the sleeves of Kyoutani's hoodie. “If you feel something, or if you just faked it really convincingly?”

“Uh oh,” Sadashi murmurs. She shakes out his blanket, straightening up his bed, before settling herself on top of it. “What happened?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” he mumbles.

Sadashi hums impatiently. “You'll tell me eventually, why not get it over with?”

Shigeru makes a pathetic noise, but she's right. He pushes himself upright with a heavy sigh. “Alright. Say I had this idea that someone I know might be...like me.”

“Uh huh…”

“And say I laid it on a little thick with the flirting to try and find out for sure?”

Sadashi groans. “Shigeru…”

“I know, I know,” he moans, covering his face. Even as much as he deserves it, Sadashi’s disappointment still hurts.

“Is this the same someone who owns that hoodie?”

Shigeru nods helplessly.

“You're reprehensible.”

“I _know_.”

Sadashi makes a thoughtful noise. “So what about the other part?”

Shigeru drops his hands to his lap. “Huh?”

“The part where you maybe feel something,” she says with the start of an evil smile. Sadashi does evil disconcertingly well. “Do you?”

“Maybe,” Shigeru mutters. He sighs. “No? God, I don't know. It's all fucked up because of—”

He catches himself in time, but not quick enough to stop Sadashi perking up with interest. “Because of what?”

Shigeru thinks fast. He wants to tell her the truth so badly. “Uh. Because—of that fight we had, remember? Yeah, things are still kinda weird, I guess.”

“The kind of weird where you wanna jump him?”

“ _What_?” Shigeru hisses, flushing scarlet. “I, no—fuck, shut up.”

Sadashi grins. “What about Uemura?”

“What about him?” Shigeru snarls, flushing more deeply.

“Well, you know, you have this whole seduction planned for tonight…”

“It's _not_ a seduction.”

“Well, whatever,” Sadashi says with a careless shrug. “So you like both?”

Shigeru shakes his head. “No, I—I don't,” he says, neither sounding or feeling particularly decisive. “I don't like Kyoutani like that.”

“Whatever you say,” Sadashi murmurs, getting to her feet lazily. “You'd better get ready soon, Mom's in a _mood_.”

 

 

One small blessing of the evening is that Tora and her parents arrive early. She seeks out Sadashi and Shigeru as soon as she arrives, and the three of them hover near the refreshments until a waiter takes pity and gives them each a glass of wine.

Sadashi is soon dragged away by her piano teacher who wants to introduce her to some composer, and Shigeru is left alone with Tora and her brilliantly inappropriate dress. It does frankly alarming things to her cleavage and makes her look at least five years older.

“So,” she says excitedly, latching onto his arm with no hint of mercy. “Where's your _guest_?”

“It's Kichiro’s guest,” Shigeru mutters, wincing a little as he shakes her off. Uemura is dancing at the edges of his mind, but he's trying to keep the whole thing pushed to one side, to not get his hopes up. Even if Uemura shows up, even if he wants to talk to Shigeru at all, the chances of anything happening between them here, surrounded by Shigeru's parents’ friends and colleagues, are slim to none.

“So you're not excited at all,” Tora says doubtfully. She's almost as good at calling him on his bullshit as Sadashi is.

“First of all,” Shigeru murmurs, leaning in so that she'll still hear him. “Stop talking about it here.” He steps back for a second and gives her a significant look, eyes wide.

Tora sighs and nods. “And second?”

“Second, nothing is going to happen.”

“But do you _want_ it to happen?”

“<I>Yes</i>, Tora,” he says, rolling his eyes and switching his wine glass to his other hand so that he can put his cold fingers on the back of his neck. “Anyway. Thirdly, I think I see some regrettable fashion choices.” He offers her his arm again. “Shall we?”

They make a lazy circuit of the room, talking quietly as more people start to arrive and the room gradually fills up. Kichiro brushes past them at one point and pauses to greet Tora.

"Why, if it isn't little Tora-chan!" he says, his gaze lingering on the her chest. 

"Hello, nii-san," Tora chirps, turning her face when he leans in and letting him kiss her cheek. She's too good at this to let her feelings show on her face, but Shigeru knows her well enough to recognise the way her jaw tightens.

“Why am I related to such a creep?” Shigeru mutters through his smile when Kichiro finally leaves them alone again.

Tora shrugs. “Like you're any better with that crush of yours.”

“Fuck you,” Shigeru murmurs pleasantly.

They're deep in conversation again when Sadashi finally reappears, crashing into Shigeru from behind.

“Ow, easy there!”

"Shi-chan," Sadashi whines, tugging on his sleeve. "Shigeru, Shigeru—”

"Hey, stop it," he snaps, slapping vaguely at her hand while Tora chatters on.

" _Shigeru_ ," Sadashi hisses, grabbing him by the elbow. He turns from Tora and gives Sadashi a withering look. "God, _what_?"

"Kichiro's friend is here!" she announces, eyes bright.

Shigeru's stomach somersaults. "What friend?" he says, knowing even before the words are out that Sadashi will laugh at him. She does, because of course she can see right through his fake attempts at seeming like he doesn't care, like he hasn't been watching the door for the past hour, waiting for Uemura to show up.

"You have to talk to him," Tora squeals, pushing in between them and grinning at Shigeru. "I bet we can get the two of you on your own, I'll find something boring to talk with Kichichi about."

Sadashi snorts loudly. "Right, well don't call him _that_ for a start."

"He loves it," Tora says, bringing her hand up to hide her giggles. Shigeru and Sadashi's mother is the only one who can still get away with calling their brother Kichichi, and even then, he whines and pouts about it when she's not looking. Tora straightens up, reaches into her dress to adjust her bra, and puts on a determined expression. "Right, I'm going in. You two come after me. Operation: Get Shigeru A Hot Older Boyfriend is _go_."

Sadashi cheers, and Shigeru just watches Tora melt into the crowd with a protest dying in the back of his throat. "I did not agree to this," he mutters, glancing at Sadashi, who just sips from her wine glass and shrugs. With a helpless groan, Shigeru peers through the crowd, looking for Tora, but she's too small to spot among the sea of slicked back hair and perfect coifs. "Should we go after her?"

"Why?" Sadashi says, peering over her wine glass at him with a smug, cat-like expression. She knows him far, far too well. "Just can't wait to go and talk to your handsome teacher?"

"Fuck," Shigeru mutters, putting his hand in his trouser pocket and _wishing_ he had his phone on him right now. He wants, more than anything, to text Watari, or maybe Inoue, and complain about this stupid mess until he feels better. Watari hates to hear about it though, and the others still make fun of him sometimes for being a stuck up blue blood. He wonders who else he could text, seeing as Sadashi and Tora are already here, and for some reason his mind settles on Kyoutani.

 _Yeah, right_ , he thinks, smiling to himself. But he doesn't think it would be so bad, talking to Kyoutani about this. He's not really a friend, not in the way that Shigeru cares about impressing him, or wants to know his opinion on everything. It's a relief, he's realised, not to care. Other people can be hard work when Shigeru is always trying, and trying to seem like he _isn't_. On the other hand, Kyoutani can be funnier than expected. His bluntness would be refreshing after suffocating in the bullshit and superficiality that seems to saturate the air here. Kyoutani would just tell them all to go screw themselves, and for the first time in his life, Shigeru really considers doing just that.

"You're daydreaming," Sadashi sing-songs at him, waving her empty glass under his nose. "Come on, I want another drink, let's go get one and then we can find your boyfriend."

Shigeru puts his arm around her neck, yanking her close. "Stop saying that, idiot," he hisses in her ear, keeping his face pleasant so that he can smile at one of their dad's associates. The man greets them and his wife coos over them, lots of 'Well haven't you two grown, aren't you a handsome young man, and you Sadashi-chan, such a beautiful girl' and similar kinds of the same meaningless fuckery that they've been hearing all night.

They make a circuit of the room, slow by necessity of the busy crowd, and the fact that so many people want to stop and chat to them. Eventually they make it as far as the bar and Sadashi sweet talks her way to another glass of wine for each of them, then she turns back to the party with a steely glint in her eye.

"We should ditch," Shigeru says, nerves churning in his gut, climbing up his chest to his throat.

Sadashi elbows him and Shigeru curses and struggles to keep his glass steady. "Don't be such a fucking wimp," she mutters. "You're at least going to say hello."

"Fine," Shigeru mutters, rolling his eyes at her. Sadashi seems to take it as a compliment and looks proud as she hooks her arm through his and starts to lead him on a determined path across the room to meet Kichiro and Uemura.

It turns out that Tora found her quarry after all, and she turns to them impatiently when they walk up. "Ah!" she yells, diving for Sadashi's free arm. "Where have you _been_? You need to meet Uemura-san!"

Thankfully, she manages to restrain herself from winking at Shigeru or doing anything else _completely humiliating_. As for mildly humiliating, Shigeru's used to getting that on a daily basis. He can deal.

“Shigeru, Sadashi,” Kichiro says, giving them a polished smile that still manages to look disapproving. It’s something in the eyes. Shigeru doesn’t know how he does it, but it’s a look lifted right from their father’s repertoire. "Good, I've been looking for you."

Shigeru and Sadashi share a quick look, one that clearly says _no he fucking hasn't_ , but they're here to drink and look pretty, not split hairs with Kichiro. "Well, we've been mingling!" Sadashi says, pulling away from Shigeru and ducking her head sweetly for Uemura. Shigeru doesn't dare look at him yet.

“Let me introduce you, Masa.” Kichiro sounds effortlessly smug. “Kids, this is my close friend Uemura Masanori.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Sadashi says in a sweet, false tone.

"My little sister, Sadashi," Kichiro says. From the corner of his eye, Shigeru can see Uemura bow elegantly. Kichiro laughs and claps him on the shoulder. "And this is Shigeru, the high school version of me."

Beside him, Tora stifles a snort, and Shigeru fights to keep his face straight, though not for the same reason. He gives Kichiro a brief, disbelieving look, but before he can even think of a comeback, Uemura bows.

"Shigeru-kun," he says, his voice warm. Shigeru meets his eyes finally and feels a shudder go through him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sadashi-chan. Shigeru-kun and I are already acquainted, in fact."

"Of course, I forgot," Kichiro says, laughing and slapping Uemura's shoulder again. This time, Shigeru catches the tightness in Uemura's smile when he does it. "You teach at Shigeru's prep school, right?"

"Mm," Uemura hums in agreement, watching Shigeru closely. "He's very studious, and a gifted student."

Tora is, once again, overcome by a fit of coughing that sounds suspiciously like laughter. Sadashi puts an arm around her shoulder and offers her the glass of wine, the two smothering their giggles with their heads bent together. Well, whatever. Sadashi may be in the top class at her own school, but Tora is two below Shigeru, so she can shut up.

Kichiro also looks surprised by the news, and he gives Shigeru a slightly doubtful look. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. It's about time he started paying attention to something other than volleyball."

Shigeru restrains himself from rolling his eyes, barely. "Well, Kichiro, you're well informed about me as ever."

Kichiro's expression hardens slightly. "Yes, well, Mother has been worried about your level of commitment this year." Shigeru's mouth drops open slightly, but apparently even Kichiro seems to realise he's being unforgivably rude and clears his throat quickly. "But I'm glad to hear that you're studying well under Masa."

"That's right," Shigeru says, turning back to Uemura and taking in his slow smile. Finally, Shigeru lets himself relax a little and returns it. "It's been very instructive. I'm sure Uemura-san has _much_ more to teach me."

He feels a small nudge in the centre of his back which, at a glance, turns out to be Tora. She mouths something at him, which takes him a few moments to decipher. _Bone him_.

"Say, Kichiro," Tora says sweetly, gently pushing Shigeru out of the way and reaching for Kichiro's arm. "You haven't told me about Kyoto yet, I want to hear all about your trip! And my mother was dying to hear as well, you must come and tell us."

Kichiro smiles indulgently at her. "Well, I'd love to, Tora-chan, but I can't just abandon my guest--"

"Oh, Shigeru can keep him busy!" Tora insists, wrapping herself around Kichiro's arm and tugging on it with fierce determination. Kichiro is tall like both Sadashi and Shigeru, and watching someone as tiny as Tora attempt to move him is hilarious. "They already know each other, after all," Tora goes on, in her most babyish, wheedling tone. Shigeru wants to puke, and Sadashi is trying not to grin.

"It's fine, Kichiro," Uemura says, not bothering to hide his amusement at Tora's antics. He glances at Shigeru again, warm gaze roaming over him like a heat lamp, making him feel as if he's glowing, burning up. "I'd be happy to spend a little time with my student, we don't have much opportunity to talk in lectures."

Kichiro finally relents and lets himself be dragged away, and Sadashi follows with a little backward smirk for Shigeru and Uemura to share. A few beats of awkward silence follow. The departure of his siblings leaves Shigeru feeling cold, but it only lasts a few seconds before the swell of the party swallows them up again and crowds them close together. Uemura's eyes are on him, and Shigeru can't decide if he wants to run away, or roll over and beg Uemura to do whatever he wants to him.

"So," he says after a few moments have passed.

Uemura takes a step closer, moving with the crowd, and steals the opportunity to rest his palm against the small of Shigeru's back.

"I was hoping you'd be here, Shigeru-kun," he says in a low voice, speaking almost right against Shigeru's ear. It's the first time Uemura has addressed him by his given name, and while it makes sense considering the way Kichiro just introduced them, it still sends a shiver down his spine.

Shigeru has had just enough wine to make the flirting come easy, maybe easier than it should, so he leans into Uemura’s touch and forgets that he's in a room full of his parents’ friends and business associates. Uemura smiles at him, small and private, but his eyes are heavy with promise.

“So you play volleyball?” Uemura asks, withdrawing his hand after a moment.

“Since middle school,” Shigeru says, casting around for some way to make it sound interesting, or appealing. Sure, Aoba Jousai are _good_ , but there's still nothing particularly sexy about a lot of sweaty teenage boys. “I—actually just made Captain a few weeks ago.” He wishes he could say that they made it to nationals, even that they _almost_ made it, and has to bite down on a residual spike of bitterness. Captain of almost-winners hardly sounds impressive.

Uemura keeps smiling at him though, and tells Shigeru about his father's tenure at Todai, and his own research position at the university, and by the time he quietly suggests that Shigeru could study under him at Sendai if he's really interested in psychology, Shigeru looks up and finds that they've moved to the edge of the room without him even noticing. Tora and Sadashi are nowhere in sight, which means Kichiro is gone too, and Shigeru realises that this is his chance.

“Uh, Uemura-san,” he says, feeling the flush from the wine he's drunk crawling up the back of his neck. “Would you like to—um, talk some more?”

“I always enjoy talking to you, Shigeru-kun,” Uemura says. He's standing so close that Shigeru can smell the sweet alcohol on his breath and the same mix of cologne and shampoo from the other day. He wants to be kissed so badly it feels like a physical ache.

Shigeru takes a deep breath and makes himself lean in, putting his mouth to Uemura’s jaw and feeling the soft, clean-shaven skin against his lips. “I think we should continue our conversation from the other day.”

Uemura’s hand finds his hip and his voice comes out low and husky. “In that case,” he says, gripping Shigeru's waist gently. “Is there somewhere private we can go?”

The possibilities rush through Shigeru's mind again, as if he didn't spend all day considering every possible way this could go. He wets his lips and nods. “Follow me.”

 

 

Shigeru is shaking as he leads Uemura down the main hallway of the apartment and then along the side hall to his and Sadashi’s bedrooms. He's absurdly relieved that he took the time to pick up all his shit this afternoon and actually make his room look presentable for once.

“This one,” he says, opening his bedroom door and holding it open for Uemura. God, he hopes his room doesn't smell weird. Please don't let his room smell weird. Uemura steps inside, laughing softly, and Shigeru locks the door behind them.

“Um,” he says, a little paralysed by the sudden reality of having a man, here, in his bedroom. A man who likes him and maybe wants to kiss him again. Shigeru isn't quite sure where to begin.

He glances over at the balcony door, which is where he'd _planned_ to take this, but when he opens his mouth to say as much, Uemura reaches out to cup Shigeru's face between both his hands.

“Shigeru-kun,” he says softly.

Shigeru turns to look at him. The room is mostly shadows, but a little light comes in from the streetlamps, highlighting the edges of Uemura’s face. The orange glow turns his expression into a grimace, but Shigeru closes his eyes before he can examine it closely.

Uemura’s fingers press gently against Shigeru's neck as though he's measuring the spread of his palm against piano keys. His mouth is hot and tastes of alcohol, his tongue eager to be inside Shigeru's mouth. A soft whimpering sound echoes between them, and it’s moments before Shigeru realises that the noise came from him.

“Shigeru,” Uemura moans, speaking against his lips, breath hot on his chin. “Shigeru, Shigeru—”

His name is still strange in Uemura’s voice. The sound of it digs into some vulnerable pit inside him and hollows him out.

Uemura slides one of his hands back to hold onto Shigeru's neck, and kisses him more aggressively than before. His tongue strokes the inside of Shigeru's cheek and the back of his teeth, while his other hand slips down and curls around his waist.

Shigeru turns his head when it becomes an onslaught, breaking the kiss so that all he can hear is Uemura panting in his ear, and the deafening sound of his own heartbeat.

“I've wanted to do this for weeks,” Uemura groans, cupping Shigeru's chin and tilting his head to get at his neck.

“There's—a balcony,” Shigeru gasps, his voice going high and urgent when Uemura starts to suck at a point low on his neck, near the join with his shoulder. “We—ah! We could talk, it's—it's private.”

“Hush now,” Uemura says, slipping his hand into Shigeru's waistband and untucking his shirt. His hand is hot on Shigeru’s back, fingers pressing firmly against his skin and lighting him up like electricity. “We're done with talking now.”

“S—sensei,” Shigeru murmurs, then flushes hot. He'd meant to use Uemura’s name, and now he just sounds like some pathetic uke from a boys’ love OVA.

Uemura moans against his neck and brings his other hand down to tug Shigeru closer by his waistband. Then his fingers move to the front of Shigeru's trousers and unfasten his fly.

Shigeru's heart starts to pound in his chest. “Ue—Uemura-san,” he says haltingly.

“Nobody will miss us,” Uemura murmurs, the hum of his voice warm against Shigeru's cheek. “I'll take my time with you.”

“I—thought we—”

Uemura groans softly and moves his hands up to cup Shigeru’s face again, looking at him in the darkness. “I thought you wanted this.” His voice is like molten chocolate. “Shigeru-kun—” He trails one hand down, over Shigeru’s shoulder and down his left arm, gently taking his hand. He tugs it into the close space between their bodies and presses Shigeru’s palm against the front of his trousers. Shigeru inhales quickly in surprise; Uemura is hard against his hand, and he pushes his hips forward slightly so that Shigeru can feel him. His grip tightens on Shigeru’s wrist. “You brought me in here because you want it.”

Shigeru swallows. He’s turned on, Uemura isn’t wrong, but he hadn’t expected this so quickly. Noise from the party echoes along the hall to his bedroom, the music and laughter muted as though coming from further away. He wonders if Sadashi and Tora will look for him if he’s gone too long, or if they’ll silently congratulate him and leave him be. Shigeru suspects the latter.

“I—”

Uemura presses his lips just below Shigeru’s ear and then trails them down slowly.

“Uemura-san—”

“Shhh.” Uemura flicks open the top button of Shigeru’s shirt and spreads the collar so that he can get his teeth into Shigeru’s shoulder.

Shigeru moans, his body going limp at the sensation that courses through him. He twists his fingers into Uemura's shirt, feeling like he'll fall otherwise. Uemura presses against him, his arms wrapping around Shigeru's waist and pulling their bodies together. The contact makes Shigeru gasp and his fingers clench again reflexively. He wants to push Uemura away, give himself time to gather this thoughts, but then Uemura is kissing him again, open-mouthed and messy.

While Uemura’s tongue delves deep into his mouth, he walks Shigeru backward, towards his bed. For a moment, Shigeru is once again thankful that he took the time to pick up everything off his bedroom floor or he'd probably have tripped up by now. The thought slips away again when the backs of his knees hit the bed and he falls back onto it with a surprised exhalation.

“You're such a tease,” Uemura murmurs, leaning over him and pressing his shoulders back against the bed.

Shigeru feels torn; he _is_ a tease, he knows it, but this is all moving very quickly. The happy buzz from the wine is fading and he just feels cold and strange watching Uemura unfasten his trousers.

“I—I think we should stop,” he ventures in a shaking voice.

Uemura barely spares him a glance. “It's too late for that, take these off.”

Shigeru swallows. He feels as if he's forgotten how to talk. Words line up on the back of his tongue, and he can picture himself saying them out loud, can almost hear himself, but he can't seem to open his mouth.

Uemura gets Shigeru's trousers undone and tugs them down over his hips. His erection has faded, perhaps thanks to his nerves, and Uemura looks unimpressed.

“I thought you were enjoying this, Shigeru?” He puts his hand over Shigeru's crotch and rubs his palm back and forth a few times.

Shigeru chokes on his spit, on the words he wants to say, and Uemura gives him a rakish smile. But it doesn't work. After a minute, Shigeru's dick is still soft, and Uemura gives up with a sigh.

“Fine,” he mutters, tugging at Shigeru's thigh. “Well I tried.”

“Wait,” Shigeru gasps as Uemura tries to roll him onto his belly. He struggles, putting his foot on the edge of the bed and scrambling backwards.

Uemura laughs under his breath. “Where are you running off to? The door's locked.”

The first bolt of genuine fear lances through him at Uemura’s words. Shigeru looks up at his face and in the half light his smile looks cruel.

“Uemura-san, I need to get back—”

“Don't be silly,” Uemura chides. He climbs onto the bed, straddling Shigeru's legs and pushing the shirt up his chest. His hands spread over Shigeru's bare stomach, and tease his nipples. Shigeru shudders and recoils slightly, but there's nowhere for him to escape. “Besides, if you run back now, everyone's going to know you took a man to your bedroom.”

Shigeru stops wriggling and his eyes widen as he looks up at Uemura. He can't tell if it's a threat or just a observation.

“See? I knew you'd agree with me.” Uemura pinches one of Shigeru's nipples and laughs when he yelps. “Besides,” he mutters, leaning closer. “I'm sure you don't want everyone to see you like _this_.”

“Please,” Shigeru whispers. His throat is burning like he might cry. He wants to struggle but his limbs feel frozen, he can't even move.

Uemura shifts his weight and lifts his hand to brush Shigeru's hair off his forehead. “There,” he murmurs, apparently taking Shigeru's stillness for acquiescence. “You'll be a good boy while I make you feel good.”

Shigeru closes his eyes. A shiver passes through him at the same time as he feels Uemura’s hand on his hip again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Towards the end of the chapter, Uemura uses emotional manipulation and physical intimidation in an attempt to coerce Yahaba into sex.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls up six weeks late with Starbucks*
> 
> Just the one chapter to go now, lovelies. Thank you for sticking with me, and for all your lovely messages! :3

Kentarou is half asleep in front of a baseball game, still happily stuffed with Aunt Chika’s cooking, and vaguely wondering how Yahaba's stupid party is going. His thoughts keep catching on the memory of Yahaba wrapped up in his hoodie; the way the sleeves were very slightly too short; the way it will probably smell of him when he gives it back. Kentarou closes his eyes. If he concentrates, he can still remember the sensation of their hands pressed together, Yahaba’s slender fingers cool against his own. 

“Ken-chan, don't you have homework?” Aunt Chika’s voice breaks into his daydreaming. Kentarou shuffles down and hides his face as she bustles around the room, turning over cushions and magazines. “Have you seen my—ah, never mind, here it is—can you put Yue to bed for me? I've got some work to do.”

“Yeah, Auntie,” he slurs, not bothering to lift his head. 

Aunt Chika slaps her hand on the end of the couch a few times, startling him into wakefulness. 

“Hey!” he complains, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 

“Come on, I know you,” she says, grinning. “If I leave you to it you'll fall asleep and stay there all night.”

Kentarou scowls at her. “Would not.”

She reaches over to ruffle his hair before she turns away, laughing softly, and Kentarou finds himself smiling. He rolls onto his back again and kicks out his legs to stretch. Yue is listening to music in her bedroom and he can hear the off-key sounds of her singing along through the ceiling. 

At least if he tucks Yue into bed it might give him enough peace and quiet to finish his homework. He couldn't seem the find the concentration for it after Yahaba left.

“Ken-chan!"

“I'm goin’!”

Kentarou kicks one leg off the side of the couch, but before he moves, a strange shudder passes through him, as though somebody somewhere is talking about him. It must be another shift, he realises, and he braces himself for it only to find that nothing changes. He’s still sitting on his own couch a moment later, still himself. 

“Ugh,” he mutters, shaking it off and getting to his feet. 

Kentarou trudges up the stairs, stifling a yawn. Maybe it means that the switching bullshit is wearing off, or maybe it was just a regular shudder. Kentarou isn’t quite sure which he hopes for most. 

Yue is still going full on karaoke when he reaches the top of the staircase, and she doesn't even look up when he knocks and then pushes open her bedroom door.

“Hey,” he says loudly.

Yue spins on the spot and points at him. She's holding her hairbrush as a microphone. “Nii-chan!” she yells over the music. “Come dance with me!” 

Kentarou shakes his head. “It's bedtime.”

“No no no,” she whines, holding out her arms to him. “Spin me, please? Just one time!”

“You're getting too big for that,” he mutters, but he holds his arms out anyway and she jumps into them, flinging her arms around his neck. 

Yue’s hair tickles his neck, and Kentarou spins her around in the small bedroom, smiling at the sound of her laughter in his ear. After three or four spins he starts to feel dizzy, and Yue’s shrieks are probably annoying Aunt Chika. 

"Okay, that's enough," he says, setting her down on her feet. 

"Dizzy," Yue moans, grabbing hold of his arm. 

Kentarou nudges her towards the bed. "Come on, time for bed, get your jammies on."

"Okay, okay," Yue sighs, making him grin. She lets go of his arm and shoos him gently with a flick of her hand. "You can go."

"Thanks," Kentarou mutters sarcastically, turning to leave the room. 

His vision blurs slightly as he steps out into the hallway. Kentarou reaches out to put his hand on the wall, thinking he must have made himself more dizzy than he realised. He covers his eyes for a moment to steady himself, but when he opens them again he panics for half a second when he still can't see anything. 

It takes a moment for Kentarou to realise that he hasn't gone suddenly blind, he's just been plunged into darkness. He would suspect a power cut, but he's no longer standing in the hallway. He's on his back, with someone breathing over him. So much for his theory about the switching coming to an end. 

Kentarou tries to ground himself and take stock of where he is, what’s happening, but it’s hard to focus. His body—Yahaba's body—is trembling, his heart beating so fast that Kentarou can feel it in his throat. A sick sensation rolls through him, curdling in his belly. Fuck, just his luck. First the jerking off, now he's stumbled right into Yahaba popping his tight little cherry. 

For a few seconds he lies there and tries to work out how to extricate himself from this situation. A distant part of him feels angry, maybe hurt, and he doesn't want to look too closely at that right now. Yahaba as good as told him already that there was somebody else, and Kentarou doesn't want to fuck this up for him. He's not _that_ much of a dick.

"Shigeru," a low voice murmurs, close enough to stir the downy hairs on Yahaba's cheek. It makes Kentarou shudder uncomfortably. "Turn over for me."

Kentarou winces. He needs to get out of here _now_. Maybe he can make an excuse about needing to use the bathroom first. He tests his hands, finding that his fingers are twisted into the sheets with a deathgrip that it takes him a moment to release. Kentarou frowns then. He's been in Yahaba's body when he was aroused, and it didn't feel like this. It felt taut and hot and beautiful, but this—the rapid heartbeat is light, rabbit-like, and he's sweating, but he feels cold and shaky. He's...terrified. 

Kentarou blinks up at the shadowy figure leaning over him. His hands are on Yahaba's body, under his clothes, and he's muttering for Yahaba to turn over on his stomach. Kentarou feels another wave of nausea and he can't tell if it's his own or Yahaba's, the body he's in reacting for him.

“Come on,” the man says, moving back a short way and pulling insistently at Kentarou’s hips, trying to turn him onto his belly. “Stop wasting my time.”

“Wh—wha—” Kentarou stammers noiselessly when the grip on his waist turns bruising. 

On the desk beside the bed, a phone starts to ring. It might be Yahaba's, he can't tell, but Kentarou can see it flashing in the darkness while it buzzes angrily.

"Ignore that."

"Get—get off me," he says, Yahaba's voice coming out shaky and weak. Barely a whisper. Kentarou grits his teeth and tries again. "Get _off_ me."

"Shigeru-kun," the man says in a tone that was maybe gentle and soothing ten minutes ago, but is fast losing patience. "We already talked about this, you don't want—”

Kentarou knees the guy in the balls. It's not a great hit; the connection is off, and Yahaba's body feels so weak with fear and adrenaline that he can barely move it the way he wants to, but that's something that Kentarou is used to anyway. 

The man collapses to one side with a surprised groan, and Kentarou rolls away from him, panting. 

"Don't touch me," he snarls, making a fist with his left hand and laying the other over his racing heart. It feels like it's going to burst right out of Yahaba’s chest, like he's just sprinted the full length of the sports field half a dozen times.

“This isn't a very dignified way to behave towards your sensei,” the man says, getting up from the bed. He straightens up with a wince and reaches out to touch Kentarou's cheek. “It's okay to be nervous, Shigeru, come on. I don't want to hurt you.”

Kentarou flinches away from him, and the man's expression darkens. “Or I can be a monster, if that's what you want,” he growls. 

“You're fucking psycho,” Kentarou says in a shaky voice, taking a step back. “Touch me again and I’ll break your arm.”

The man actually laughs at that, and Kentarou feels himself flush with anger.

“Wouldn’t _that_ look good on your report card,” he says, almost as if he’s teasing while he advances on Kentarou. “Now come on, Shigeru—a little resistance is to be expected, but I’m going to have my way, so you might as well—”

“I’d rather fuck a barbed wire fence,” Kentarou snarls.

"You arrogant little bitch," the man growls, advancing on him. He reaches out, making to grab Kentarou’s shoulder. "I'm trying to do you a favour."

"Not interested," Kentarou snaps, rocking his weight back on his left foot, and then swinging with everything he has. 

Miraculously, his fist connects despite the darkness and the difficulty of judging the movements in a body that isn't his own. The man stumbles back with a loud cry, and Kentarou kicks him for good measure. Before he can run, the phone on the desk starts to ring again. Kentarou snatches it up then runs to the door, cursing when he finds it locked. A moment's fumbling frees him into the darkened hallway, and he slams the bedroom door behind him. The phone in his hand stops ringing; Kentarou shoves it in his pocket and starts to edge his way along the hallway.

There's noise in the apartment, music and laughter, and Kentarou stalks towards it with an anxious feeling in his chest. The party. His heart is still hammering and his fist aches badly, but Yahaba can deal with that part later. Kentarou keeps one ear open for the sound of the bedroom door behind him, but there's nothing. He creeps along the hallway and draws near to the sounds of the party. Two doors are open, leading off the hallway, but Kentarou doesn't pass anyone and he makes it to the door without being seen. He has to get to Yahaba. 

Temporary shoe stands have been propped along the wall near the genkan, and Kentarou panics for a moment that he won't be able to find Yahaba's shoes, but then he spots a pair that he recognises—Yahaba's volleyball shoes, of all things—and he quickly shoves his feet into them. 

"Shigeru!" a voice shouts down the hallway.

Kentarou swears and reaches for the door handle. The voice chases him as he tumbles out into the corridor. He ignores it. It's a four second sprint to the staircase. He takes the steps two at a time despite the weak, shaky sensation in his legs and his tendency to trip in Yahaba's body. Kentarou clears five flights safely and bursts out into the cold night, ignoring the questioning shout of the doorman. He still has only the vaguest recollection of where he is in relation to anywhere else, so he picks a direction and starts to jog. 

Yahaba's clothes aren't warm enough for the winter air. He's wearing a thin shirt, half the buttons undone, and a thin pair of suit trousers, still not even properly fastened. Kentarou tries to fasten the button but his hands are shaking too much to manage it; he contents himself with having zipped the fly. 

After jogging along a couple of streets, Kentarou sees a sign for the train station, and sighs in relief when he recognises it as the same line that passes near his house. He jams his hands in his pockets and jumps in surprise when he feels the phone vibrating again. He yanks it out and stares at the screen.

_Sadashi calling..._

Kentarou frowns at the phone for a moment, but before he can decide what to do, the call ends. The screen tells him that he has four missed calls already. Three from Sadashi, and two from himself.

"Shit," Kentarou mutters, hitting his own name and swiping to call. 

The ringing seems endless. Kentarou drops to a brisk walk, watching his breath steam in front of him in the frigid air. His heart is still beating fast but it's slowed from the frantic pace of the bedroom. His phone rings. Kentarou can't shake the feeling of that guy climbing over him in the dark, of unfamiliar hands grabbing at him. He wants, more than anything, to get to Yahaba, to see him with his own eyes—so to speak—and make sure that he's safe.

The phone rings off and Kentarou drops his hand with a curse. He dials again. This time, the phone rings twice, before there's the soft click of the call connecting.

"Yahaba—”

"Kyou—?"

"Yeah."

Yahaba sighs heavily in relief. "Oh god, are you alright? I tried to call, I thought—fuck, Kyoutani—what's happening, what—are you okay?"

"Slow down," Kentarou says, reaching up with his free hand and pressing shaking fingers over his eyes. "I'm—fine. Are you?"

There's a pause, and then Yahaba's voice cracks a little. "I—no," he says, very quietly. "No, I'm not—fine."

"I'm coming," Kentarou says. He reaches down to check Yahaba’s pockets and finds them empty. "I'm—shit, I don't have money for the train."

"Oh—on my phone," Yahaba says quickly. "There's an app, there—you can use it for the train fare."

Kentarou snorts. "You're so fuckin' fancy."

"How does using an app make me fancy, you idiot?" Yahaba snaps.

There's silence for a moment. Then, Kentarou starts to laugh. It's just a snigger, and he tries to stifle it, but he knows that Yahaba must have heard.

"You ass," Yahaba says half-heartedly, his voice full of amusement. "I don't know why I even talk to you."

"I just saved you, asshole," Kentarou snipes back, without thinking. Yahaba's quiet laughter stops abruptly. "I—will you be okay?"

Yahaba is quiet for a moment. "How soon can you get here?"

“I’m at the station,” Kentarou says, a little out of breath from running up the steps. “How often are the trains on this line?”

There was a brief pause, then, “There should be one in a few minutes.”

Kentarou hums. “Okay, I need to—use this app thing, hang on a minute. I’ll call you back.”

“Okay.”

It takes him two minutes to get the app working, swipe himself through the gate, and get onto the right platform. Sure enough, he only has six minutes to wait until the next train arrives, and he paces back and forth along the empty platform to keep himself warm while he calls his own number again.

"Kyou," Yahaba says a little breathlessly, barely giving the phone time to ring. 

"I'm on my way," Kentarou says, cradling the phone to his ear. "Uh—your sister called a few times, I didn't answer."

Yahaba groans. "Fuck, did she see you go?"

"I don't know," Kentarou answers, wrapping his free arm around himself. Yahaba seems to get cold much more quickly than he does. "Someone was calling your name, but I just ran for the door. I didn't see who it was."

There's another brief silence between them. "What about—” Yahaba says softly. "Um, Uemura—”

Kentarou makes a face. "That's the guy?" He scuffs his toe on the platform. "I kicked him in the balls."

Again, there's silence. Then Yahaba, spluttering, "You—you _what_?"

His tone is so ridiculous, Kentarou can't help the smile that tugs the corner of his mouth. "Right in the nuts, or maybe a little to the side, it was hard to tell in the dark."

"Oh my god. Oh my _god_."

"I punched him too."

Yahaba wails quietly. 

“Hey,” Kentarou says, after a few moments of Yahaba’s disbelieving moans. He falls silent, and Kentarou pauses and sinks onto a bench. The metal is freezing cold through his thin clothes, but he grits his teeth and ignores it. “Where are you right now?”

There’s a moment of quiet, and Yahaba clears his throat. “Uh, outside your house,” he mutters. “I—I had to get outside, I just. Inside was—I felt trapped.”

“Mm,” Kentarou hums. “I get that.”

Yahaba sighs quietly, sounding relieved. A fragile silence hangs between them for several seconds, stretching out to ten and then twenty. “It’s—nice here,” Yahaba murmurs, breaking the silence after a minute or so. “I didn’t realise. It’s so quiet.”

“We’re right on the edge of town,” Kentarou murmurs. “It’s not far from the forest.”

“I like it.”

Kentarou sits back, smiling at the soft sound of Yahaba’s voice. He's rarely heard him sound so open and genuine, and he can't help but wonder how many people get to hear this, even out of Yahaba's friends. 

“Will you tell me what it's like?”

Kentarou makes a thoughtful sound in his throat, wondering what best to tell. He can hear Yahaba breathing, and faintly, the sound of his neighbour's dog barking at nothing. “There's a pond,” he says, thinking of Yue with a smile. “Not far from our house. I used to take Yue there to catch frogspawn, and we'd hatch the tadpoles in a tank and feed them scraps of our dinner.”

Yahaba hums happily. “What else?”

“There's an old shrine nearby, we walk there on weekends sometimes. There are statues along the path, Yue used to give them all names, and then she used to have to say hi to them all every time we went past. Shit, I was so glad when she grew out of that.”

He stops briefly to listen to Yahaba's gentle laughter. “You two are really close,” Yahaba says, sounding strangely fond.

“Yeah, well,” Kentarou mumbles, kicking the heel of his shoe against the bench. “You know, we lost our parents, and we have Aunt Chika, but—” He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, surprised when he finds Yahaba's long fringe. “We just...we need each other, that's all.” 

“I'm so sorry, Kyoutani.”

“Forget it. It was a long time ago.”

Yahaba clicks his tongue softly. “No, I...I’m sorry for not giving you a chance. Sooner, I mean.”

The train rocks into the station and Kentarou gets to his feet. “Just a minute,” he says over the rush of the train doors opening.

There are only two people in the carriage he chooses, two women in their twenties having a loud discussion about something on T.V. Kentarou goes to the far end and sits down, putting the phone back to his ear. 

“That shrine is just a few minutes away,” he says, without preamble. He doesn't respond to what Yahaba said, but thankfully Yahaba doesn't call him on it. “It's halfway between my house and the station.”

“Oh,” Yahaba says, perking up. “Should I meet you there?” 

Kentarou swallows, forcing himself to say his next words. “Yue probably hasn’t gone to bed yet. We won't get any privacy at my house.” 

The train starts to move. Kentarou counts the seconds of Yahaba's silence. 

“Which way?” Yahaba asks at last. 

For some reason he can't determine, Kentarou feels a weight on his chest lift at the words. “From my front gate, go left,” he says, unable to keep the smile from slanting across his face. 

He gives Yahaba directions while the train stops and starts, edging closer to home. Closer to Yahaba. 

As Yahaba walks, he asks questions about Kentarou's neighbours, things that he notices, and Kentarou answers them generally with, “How should I know?” or “Why don't you ask them if you're so curious?”, but he doesn't really mind. The fear has finally faded from Yahaba's voice, and Kentarou doesn’t feel so afraid for him.

At last, the train pulls into his stop and Kentarou jumps to his feet before it stops moving, eager to get to the shrine. He and Yahaba keep talking while he jogs down the station steps and swerves around the corner. The shrine is actually closer to the station than his house, barely five minutes away—less if he runs. 

“Are you running?” Yahaba asks after a minute, interrupting himself midstream.

Kentarou merely grunts a response, because he's practically sprinting now, and because he's only two streets away from seeing Yahaba. 

He almost trips over a jizo statue in his hurry to get on the path. There are no lights along this old road, but the moon is so heavy overhead that he can see almost clearly despite the dark. 

“Where are you?” he gasps, slowing his pace slightly. 

Yahaba exhales quickly. “By the playground,” he says, sounding breathless again. “On the bars.”

Kentarou disconnects the call and shoves the phone in his pocket. He's only thirty metres away, twenty, ten. He can see Yahaba's outline in the moonlight, the silhouette of his own body perched on top of the climbing frame. 

“Kyoutani?” Yahaba calls out softly. 

Kentarou reaches the bars. He puts his foot on a rung and starts to climb.

Yahaba giggles at him. For once, Kentarou doesn't mind how stupid that sounds in his own voice. “I feel like a princess in a tower,” Yahaba confesses.

Kentarou groans slightly as he hauls himself over the last rung. “What am I then?” he asks, catching his breath. 

Yahaba reaches out, and Kentarou settles beside him, swinging his legs over the edge. 

“I think—” Yahaba says in a shaky, halting voice. “I think that makes you a dragon slayer.”

It’s not like Kentarou to second guess himself very often. If he feels like doing something, he’ll do it. So, even though his hands are shaking again and his heart is in his throat, he shuffles closer and puts his arm around Yahaba’s waist. With a soft sigh, Yahaba relaxes against him, his warmth melting into Kentarou’s skin. Neither of them are dressed for February, but Yahaba at least is wearing a sweater, even if he didn’t think to grab Kentarou’s jacket on his way outside.

“Did—did you really punch him?” Kentarou grunts an affirmative and Yahaba huffs. “Good.”

It’s not like Kentarou disagrees, but he can’t help feeling like he needs to explain. “I don’t usually punch people,” he mutters. 

“I know that.” Yahaba’s voice is quiet, unusually gentle. He moves slightly, tilting his head to listen, and Kentarou decides to be brave and rests his cheek against his buzzed hair. 

“I got into a fight one time in first year,” he mutters, shrugging a little and feeling the way Yahaba moves with him. “Some older kids were bullying a kid in my class—because we’re dumb, I guess.” He pauses for a moment, but Yahaba is silent. “I dunno, it used to get to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Yahaba says quietly, the words muffled against Kentarou’s shoulder. He pushes himself up, his hand against Kentarou’s thigh, and looks him in the eye. “Kyou—fuck, I’ve been such a shitty person to you.”

Kentarou reaches up and ruffles his hair. “Yeah,” he says, carelessly, letting his hand slip to the back of Yahaba’s neck. “But you’re not so bad.”

Yahaba leans into his hand. “I—” he begins, before hesitating. It’s hard to tell in the moonlight, but Kentarou thinks he’s blushing. “Would it be really shitty of me to kiss you right now?”

Kentarou’s heart thuds. He swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says, a little hoarse. “It would be really shitty.”

Yahaba wrinkles his nose, another expression that looks fucking stupid on Kentarou’s face. “Yeah,” he mumbles, looking away. 

“But,” Kentarou says, the words spilling out of him. “If you mean it, then you should do it.”

He hears Yahaba’s shocked inhalation before their eyes meet again. Kentarou looks into his own pale gaze, Yahaba watching him with wide eyes.

Yahaba drags his bottom lip through his teeth. “I mean it.”

Kentarou shivers from the cold, and as he shuts his eyes he feels Yahaba shiver in response. His own lips are warm, dry and cracked; Kentarou runs his tongue over them and feels Yahaba shiver in response. They break apart for a second to draw breath, and when Kentarou leans in again Yahaba’s mouth feels plush and soft. The hand on his neck pushes up into his hair, cold fingers cradling the back of his head. 

“Yahaba,” Kentarou whispers, reaching to put his arm around Yahaba’s waist and pull him closer. He lets their lips fall apart and presses their foreheads together instead. 

“Oh.” Yahaba’s voice is just a gust of warm breath on his lips. “We’re back.”

Kentarou doesn’t open his eyes yet. He already knew, somehow, they they had switched again, even though he can hardly tell where Yahaba starts and he ends right now. He rests his hand on Yahaba’s hip lightly. 

"You should call your sister,” he says quietly.

"Fuck," Yahaba mutters, pulling away from him. "Yeah, I should." He drops his head into his hands. "God, I'm so, so not ready to deal with any of this." He sits up straight after a moment and sets his shoulders. "I—guess I should go back. Shit, my parents are gonna kill me." He winces. "And my brother. Jeez, if Uemura said anything—"

Kentarou frowns. He can hear the panic ramping up in Yahaba's voice, recognising it now for what it is, the way he never would have just a couple of weeks ago. Kentarou thinks of the little he knows of Yahaba's family, of their perfect, sterile apartment, and the words tumble out before he can stop to consider them.

"Stay at my place."

Yahaba turns to look at him, his words trailing off mid-sentence. His mouth hangs open slightly, eyes wide.

"If you want," Kentarou adds gruffly, glancing away. "You don't have to."

"No, I—” Yahaba pauses and swallows. "Would that really be okay?"

Kentarou shrugs. "I know it isn't fancy."

Yahaba's laughter surprises him, but it isn't mean, just a little bitter and sad. "I'm not all that fancy, you know."

"Fancier than me."

Yahaba's expression twists unhappily. "Yeah, but you—your family is... _real_. You—you do things, and...and you _care_ about each other. I don't think anyone in my family cares about anyone else, except for me and Sadashi."

"You're not really on your own then, are you?" Kentarou says, a little too brusque, but whatever. Yahaba needs to be told. "My aunt loves us, but she's gone a lot. But Yue and me have each other. And you—you have Sadashi-san."

Yahaba nods. “Yeah.” 

The cold bars are starting to dig into his ass and his thighs, and even he's starting to get cold, so Yahaba must be _freezing_. 

"Here," Kentarou says, struck by inspiration. He leans away from Yahaba and tugs his sweatshirt over his head. "Put this on."

"No, it's okay—”

"Yahaba," Kentarou says sternly. "Don’t be an asshole. You're shaking. Put it on.”

Yahaba hesitates for a moment longer, but when Kentarou shakes the sweater in front of him, he reaches out for it with a reluctant nod. Kentarou watches him struggle into it, distracted by the way he bites his bottom lip, wanting badly to taste it again. But he’s not sure if that’s allowed now, and he especially doesn’t want Yahaba to think that his invitation is contingent on more kissing. 

“Thank you,” Yahaba mutters after a few moments. Despite his height advantage, the sleeves are slightly too long, and he pulls them down over his hands before folding his arms. “Fuck, it’s really uncomfortable up here.”

“Where do you want to go?”

Yahaba looks at him sidelong. “Don’t you need to get home? I kind of just...left.”

Kentarou shrugs. “Yue can put herself to bed.”

“Augh,” Yahaba moans, dropping his head into his arms. “I was supposed to do that? Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Kentarou mutters, touching his shoulder and giving him a gentle shake. “Forget about it, you didn’t know. And you have, uh...other shit going on.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah.” Kentarou probably shouldn’t ask. He doesn’t really want to. “Do you...wanna talk about it?”

Yahaba groans. “ _No_.” 

Kentarou retracts his hand.

“I mean—” Yahaba says quickly, raising his head. “I don’t mean because it’s you. I just—” He sighs, shudders. “I’m...ashamed.”

“Don’t,” Kentarou snarls. “Don’t you fuckin’ _dare_.”

Yahaba blinks at him. “Dare what?”

“You’re _not_ to blame.”

“Right,” Yahaba mutters, turning away. He looks off in the direction of the shrine, though he can’t possibly see it in the dark. Moonlight glances off the children’s slide on the other side of the playground. “Thanks, but. You weren’t there. You didn’t see—”

“I saw enough,” Kentarou snarls.

“Kyou—”

“ _No_.” He wants to grab Yahaba and shake him, force him to listen. Instead, he curls his hands into fists and presses them into his thighs. "Look, I might have shown up late, but I saw enough. Whatever you asked for, you didn't ask for _that_."

There’s no response for several long moments. Which is fine, really. Kentarou wouldn’t want to talk about it either, and just because they’ve shared each other’s bodies and smushed their mouths together a little bit doesn’t mean they have to go telling each other everything. 

A loud hitch of breath catches his attention, and Kentarou realises suddenly that the shaking isn’t just Yahaba shivering anymore; he’s crying.

Kentarou is not good with crying. He counts himself lucky that Yue hardly ever cries. Neither of them do, really. 

“Uh, hey—” he tries.

“Fuck off,” Yahaba mutters thickly.

For some stupid reason, the insult comes as a relief. “You fuck off,” Kentarou says quietly, moving closer to him. He doesn't know if his touch is welcome, even without considering what Yahaba has already been through tonight, but he doesn't want to make him sit there alone. He reaches out, giving Yahaba time to push him away or say no, and carefully puts an arm around him again. It's a little different this time, their bodies fitting together awkwardly at first, but just like before, Yahaba melts against him. 

With a broken sob, he turns his face into Kentarou's neck, cheek hot against the chilled skin. His fingers clutch at Kentarou's shirt, scraping at the skin below and making him shiver. 

“I've got you,” Kentarou mutters, wrapping both arms around him. 

Yahaba cries quietly, his chest shuddering every few breaths with a near-silent sob. Kentarou can feel his shoulder getting wet, but he doesn't say anything. He just holds Yahaba while he shakes, and strokes gentle fingers through his hair. 

They're interrupted finally by Yahaba's phone buzzing again. He pulls back reluctantly, and Kyoutani pretends not to notice that his face is shiny with snot and tears. 

“Fuck,” Yahaba says, his voice thick and nasally. “I—fuck.”

Kentarou grabs Yahaba's wrist and lifts his arm to his face. “Just wipe your face, I don't care.”

Yahaba gives him a somewhat guilty smile before wiping off the snot on the sleeve of Kyoutani's sweater. Whatever. It can be washed. He reaches into his pocket with his other hand and tugs out his phone.

“Sadashi?”

The voice on the other end would be perfectly audible if the words actually made sense. Kentarou winces. 

“Fuck, Sadashi, shit, stop shouting—” 

Yahaba holds the phone away from his ear and makes a face at Kyoutani, who pretends to be extremely interested in the goosebumps on his own arms. 

Sighing, Yahaba tries again. “Yeah, I'm—would you let me talk? I know, okay, I'm sorry, I'm—no, I'm _fine_ , I'm with...a friend.”

Kentarou lets a tiny smile warm his face. 

“No!” Yahaba shrieks in response to something and Kentarou winces. “Of course I'm not with that piece of shit!” 

_That_ feels like a small victory, at least.

“Sada-chan,” Yahaba continues after a moment. “Not tonight, okay? I'll tell you tomorrow. No, I'm gonna stay here. Well tough _shit_ , okay? I've made excuses for _you_ plenty of times—” 

Kentarou leans back, propping himself on the cold bars and looking up at the empty sky. The moon has risen higher since he got here, lighting the path back to the road a little better. He tunes out Yahaba's words and focuses instead on the cadence of his voice as he lowers it, talking to his sister in a gentle tone until he hangs up a minute later.

“Can we get down from here?” Yahaba mutters eventually. 

Kentarou shuffles forward to the edge and drops over the edge wordlessly. He lands heavily in the dirt, bending his knees low to take the impact. Yahaba huffs at him before climbing down instead. Back on solid ground, the two of them stand facing one another for a few seconds, then Yahaba turns away in the direction of the road.

“Wait a second,” Kentarou says, fumbling in the pocket of his jeans. He finds a few coins leftover from his trip to the convenience store earlier that evening, and nods to himself.

Yahaba hesitates, and Kentarou reaches out for his hand. After a moment's consideration, Yahaba laces their fingers together, and Kentarou starts off up the hill, heading for the shrine. 

“Where are we going?” Yahaba asks in a fearful voice, letting himself be dragged along regardless. 

“It's not far, come on.”

It only takes them a couple of minutes to reach the shrine. It's not very popular, but it hasn't been completely abandoned, and there's a new piece of brightly coloured cloth tied around the neck of the carved wooden fox that sits nearby. Kentarou pulls the scraps of change out of his pocket and tips the coins into Yahaba's palm. 

“There,” he says, gesturing to the offertory box. “I don't care if you think it's dumb or whatever. You're here, so do it.”

Yahaba smiles shyly at him. He looks like he wants to say something, but he shrugs it off and turns to throw the money into the box and lower his head in silent prayer for a few moments. 

Kentarou can't help but wonder what he's thinking about, and he's getting antsy on the spot when Yahaba turns back to him suddenly and reaches for his hands. 

“Kyou,” his says, his face eager again in the darkness. “That—um, that was...weirdly romantic. Thank you “

“Fine,” Kentarou mutters, avoiding his eyes. 

Yahaba tugs on his hands, drawing him nearer, and tilts his head towards Kentarou's. When he gets close he waits, suspended in the moment, until Kentarou closes the distance between them. 

This kiss is different to the first; it's soft and brief, almost like a gentle greeting or a farewell. Kentarou selfishly hopes for the former as he draws back with pink cheeks. 

“Should we—do you need to get home or—?”

“Is the invitation still open?” Yahaba asks shyly.

Kentarou nods. “Let's go.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The walk back to Kyoutani's house feels shorter than it did on the way to the shrine. Perhaps it's because he now knows the way, but Shigeru can't help but enjoy the sensation of Kyoutani's warm fingers brushing against his own, and the comforting silence of walking along with him in the middle of the night. It feels like they're in a bubble, unaffected by the darkness all around them. 

“I'll just see if my aunt is still awake,” Kentarou mutters when they reach the front door.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Shigeru says quietly, slipping off his volleyball shoes and carefully pushing them to one side. 

Kentarou points along the hall. “Go sit in the kitchen. Eat something if you want.” 

He disappears into the front room, and Shigeru hesitates for a moment before walking down the hall to the kitchen. He doesn't really know what to do when he gets there, so he starts to boil some water, deciding that maybe he'll make some tea.Tea is one of the few things he can manage in the kitchen. 

He's not really sure why he's still standing there with a container of cold water when Kyoutani comes back a few minutes later.

“Did you want to heat that up?” Kyoutani says, not really like he's asking a question, but he takes the water from Shigeru and sets it to boil anyway. “My aunt said you can stay, by the way.”

“Oh,” Shigeru says, forcing himself to smile because that seems appropriate. “Please thank her for me.” 

Kyoutani gave him a strange look. “I can get you, uh—if you don't mind, borrowing my clothes?”

Shigeru nods. “Thank you.”

“You're freaking me out, dude, stop.”

“Uhh,” Shigeru says, frowning. “Sorry?”

Kyoutani snorts and turns away to fetch cups. “You're being all weird and polite.”

Shigeru bites his lip. “I'm nervous.”

“We have a spare futon,” Kyoutani mutters. “You don't have to share with me.”

The non sequitur confuses him for a moment, until he realises that it wasn't unrelated at all. “Oh, no, I—” Shigeru feels himself flush at the implication. “I...wasn't worried about that. Not—not that you have to share with me, but. I—I wouldn't mind that.”

Kyoutani shrugs, a move that Yahaba is starting to learn says volumes, and starts to pour hot water into the cups. “As long as you don't kick.”

Shigeru smiles weakly. “I might kick.”

“Typical,” Kyoutani says, but he smirks over his shoulder, and Shigeru's stomach feels light. “I'll manage.” 

They carry their tea upstairs to Kyoutani's bedroom, and Kyoutani leaves again briefly to check on his sister. While he's gone, Shigeru takes the opportunity to look around his room, something he's never bothered to do on the handful of times he's found himself here so far. 

The shelves overflow with manga volumes, books that Shigeru recognises and plenty that he's never heard of. He flicks through and finds half a dozen volumes of yaoi interspersed with copies of Bleach, One Piece, Yotsuba...It's funny, to think that he could have guessed about Kyoutani if he'd only taken a little time to look. 

“Hey,” Kyoutani says quietly, ducking back into the room and sliding the door closed behind him. “Creeping?”

Shigeru tenses. “I—yeah,” he mumbles, flushing. “Sorry.”

Kyoutani shrugs. “Knock yourself out.” He walks over to a dresser and starts rummaging through a drawer. Shigeru watches him pull out a couple of t-shirts and sniff them curiously. 

“Do you keep the dirty ones in there too?” Shigeru teases. 

“Just checking,” Kyoutani says, not rising to the bait. “Wanna make sure they're good enough for the princess.”

Shigeru groans and reaches out to snatch one of the t-shirts out of his hands. Kyoutani watches him calmly, his eyes warm with amusement. 

“That had better not catch on,” Shigeru says, an empty threat and they both know it. He holds the t-shirt up to examine it. There are cartoon characters on the front that he doesn't recognise, and he raises an eyebrow at Kyoutani. 

“You wanna borrow one of Yue’s dresses instead?” he grumbles.

Shigeru grins. “Nah. I grew out of pink in middle school.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt and Kyoutani goes pink himself and turns away.

“I'm—I'll let you change.”

“Kyou,” Shigeru says quietly. “You've seen me change a hundred times.”

Kyoutani’s shoulders are tense, and they seize up to his ears before he carefully replies, “It's different.” 

Shigeru laughs. “No, it isn't.”

Kyoutani folds his arms and glances over his shoulder, relaxing when he sees that Shigeru hasn't undressed any further. “It is,” he says slowly, looking away again. “If I want to watch.”

The words pulse through him, and Shigeru's mouth falls open slightly as he looks back at Kyoutani. Arousal hums in his belly, nothing like the urgent sensation he had when Uemura first kissed him in his room. This is quiet like burning embers, warm and patient.

“Kyoutani,” Shigeru says softly. His voice is hoarse; he swallows, licks his bottom lip. 

Sighing, Kyoutani turns to look at him. Shigeru drops the borrowed t-shirt on the floor and unfastens the rest of his shirt buttons. Kyoutani's eyes widen, flicking between Yahaba's face and his fingers. Shigeru shrugs off the shirt and drops it on the floor. Blushing, Kyoutani looks away again.

“Kyou,” he says, hoping Kyoutani won't notice that his voice is weak and shaky. “I like knowing that you watch me.”

“I didn’t say I watch you,” Kyoutani mumbles.

Shigeru unzips his stupid expensive slacks, dirty now from climbing around in the dark. “I watch you too.”

Even from several steps away, he can see Kyoutani swallow, the bob of his adam’s apple. Shigeru waits, his pulse heavy and almost painful in his throat, until Kyoutani finally looks at him again. Shigeru is done with flirting and feigning, so he pushes his trousers down quickly and steps out of them, no attempts to be sexy or coy. Look where that got him. He’s not even sure what he wants here, but he knows that whatever emotions Kyoutani has instilled in him before: frustration, annoyance, incandescent rage, Shigeru has never been _afraid_ of him. 

Kyoutani’s bedroom isn’t warm, and Shigeru feels a shiver roll over him as he stands there in nothing but his socks and his underwear. Kyoutani’s eyes seem to follow the shiver, tracking from his face, to his stomach, down to his toes and then back up again. Apparently he makes up his mind at last, setting his jaw before crossing the short distance between them. 

Shigeru holds his breath as Kyoutani bends down in front of him. He comes up holding the t-shirt with the cartoon characters, turning it around in his hands until he finds the arm holes. 

“Hands up,” he says, watching Shigeru carefully.

Frowning, Shigeru raises his arms above his head, and Kyoutani stands on tiptoe to slip the arms of the t-shirt over his hands. He tugs it down, fitting the neck hole carefully over Shigeru’s head. Shigeru swallows his disappointment; Kyoutani was right, after all, back at the shrine. Shigeru is a shitty person for kissing him after what happened tonight. 

“I—don’t wanna be like— _him_ ,” Kyoutani mutters, his fingers twisting in the hem of the shirt after he pulls it down to Shigeru’s waist. 

Not for the first time, Shigeru realises that he has completely misjudged Kyoutani. He carefully takes Kyoutani's hands, letting him untangle his fingers from the material, and gives him an encouraging smile. 

"You will never, ever be like that."

Kyoutani doesn't reply right away, but he squeezes Shigeru's hands in response, tangling their fingers together. 

"Okay." He sighs, nodding to himself. "Okay, um—I'm gonna go, uh...I think Aunt Chika keeps some spare toothbrushes around." He lets go of Shigeru's hands reluctantly, their fingers parting slowly. 

While he's gone, Shigeru sits cross legged on the end of Kyoutani's bed and texts Sadashi. 

_On a scale of one to ten how dead am I?_

_I'd say 16_ _so are u gonna tell me what happened or_  
_shall I just guess why uemura left here with a broken nose_

_are you fuckin serious_  
_okay don't quote me on this but i think i'm in love_

_you gave the guy a nosebleed and ran away_

_not with uemura wtf_

_ohhhhh_  
_with your mysterious ~friend??_

_shit gtg he's coming back_

_if you bone two guys in one night i'll be so mad at u_

_grOOSS GROSS I DID NOT BONE UEMURA FUCK OFF_

_fine w/e love you xxx_

The door opens again and Kyoutani puts his head in. "Hey."

"Still here," Shigeru says, gesturing at himself and Kyoutani's ridiculous t-shirt. "Though I _was_ tempted to make off with this thing."

Kyoutani rolls his eyes. "Yue got it for me."

"Makes sense. Now I feel like a jerk." Kyoutani just looks at him, his expression clearly saying, _what did you expect_ , and Shigeru grins. "Shut up."

Kyoutani just shrugs, then hauls his t-shirt over his head. Shigeru drops his eyes to his phone, but then he remembers Kyoutani's voice, low and almost cracking on the words _I want to watch_ , and he forces himself to look up. Kyoutani sheds his jeans too, making quick work of getting undressed, as though he isn't expecting Shigeru's eyes on him, or doesn't care if they're there. Shigeru can lie to himself all he likes; it doesn't matter how many times he's caught glimpses of this in the clubroom, or how much he might have chanced to see while they were in each other's bodies, seeing Kyoutani like this is new and terrifying. 

The thing is, Shigeru has spent his entire teenage life so far sharing sweaty changing rooms and dirty showers with other boys, but he's never been allowed to look before. Sneaking glances just isn't quite the same. He runs his eyes over Kyoutani's broad shoulders, all too aware of the power he holds in his back muscles, coiled tight like a spring. His waist is tapered and slim, his ass is tiny—which, Shigeru will probably never tell him, is kind of cute—and his thighs look like he could crush someone with them. Maybe he would, if Shigeru asked nicely.

"You're staring," Kyoutani says after a few moments. He hasn't turned around, but Shigeru realises that he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get his pyjamas on either. Caught in his voyeurism, Shigeru blushes, but he holds his chin high.

"I told you already that I like to watch you," he says, sounding more confident about it than he feels. 

Kyoutani pulls a tank top out of a drawer and holds it in his hands for a moment. He turns and looks over at Shigeru. "Can I put this on yet?"

Shigeru nods. "I suppose.” He swallows, looking around the room again to distract himself. “Um, any luck with that toothbrush?”

“Yeah.” Kyoutani’s voice is muffled. He pulls the shirt down and turns to Shigeru, ruffling his hair with one hand self-consciously. “By the sink,” he says, dropping his hand and tugging his shirt in place. “The pink one.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Shigeru sighs, unfolding his legs untidily and getting to his feet. He watches Kyoutani watch him from out of the corner of his eye, and he feels that slow heat in his belly again. 

Shigeru stares at himself in the mirror while he brushes his teeth. Part of him doesn’t dare ask Kyoutani for more details of what happened after they switched, but his hand still hurts and there are cuts on two of his knuckles—presumably from punching Uemura. There are tender places on his wrists and his shoulder where he suspects he's going to bruise. It feels strange for his body to remember something that his mind can't. 

Shigeru finishes up in the bathroom quickly, and pads across the darkened hallway to Kyoutani's bedroom. 

Kyoutani is laying out his futon when Shigeru slips inside the room and closes the door behind him. He doesn’t look up at first, and Shigeru hesitates with his back to the wall by the light switch. Kyoutani has changed out of his jeans and into a pair of cropped sweatpants, and Shigeru feels suddenly self conscious about getting into bed with him wearing only his underwear and a borrowed t-shirt. With a soft sigh, he shrugs off the feeling, and pushes himself away from the wall. 

"Need a hand with that?"

Kyoutani shakes his head. "Almost done." He grabs the duvet and shakes it out, bringing it down smooth on top of the futon. "You wanna pick a side, princess?"

"You're never letting that one go, are you?" 

Shigeru drops to his knees and peels back the covers so that he can crawl underneath. His mouth feels dry, from the toothpaste, but he's nervous too. Not nervous in the way he was with Uemura; he knows that Kyoutani would never hurt him. He's known, for a long time really, that Kyoutani wouldn't hurt a fly. He's nervous in the way he was when Uemura first kissed him in the classroom; in the way he was nervous when a boy from another school held his hand once at a training camp. 

While he gets comfortable, Kyoutani switches on a small lamp, before flipping off the overhead light. Shigeru is aware of him moving around in the dim light: pushing their clothes to one side, moving a stack of manga volumes. 

"Kyou," he says in a low voice, pushing himself up on his elbows. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing," Kyoutani mutters defensively. "Just--"

Shigeru smiles. "Get in already. Princesses don't bite."

"I bet they do," Kyoutani mutters, but he's already shifting back the covers and shuffling in beside Shigeru. Once he's settled, he reaches over to turn off the lamp. 

“You got enough space?”

Shigeru nods, his cheek rasping against the pillow. Kyoutani relaxes into the futon beside him, stretching out his legs under the heavy blankets. His toes graze Shigeru's shin and he pulls back with a hasty apology.

It's quiet here at night. Shigeru hadn't thought of their neighborhood as being particular noisy, but there's always traffic noise, and nearby shops and restaurants. Kyoutani's house is older than his parents’ sleek apartment, and its age is audible in the soft clanking noises from the pipes, or the way it groans and creaks as though having a lengthy conversation with itself. Outside of that, all he can hear is the wind in the trees, and the occasional bark of a fox.

“Kyoutani?”

“Mm.”

“Never mind.”

Kyoutani shuffles closer and opens his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing, I'm just—” Shigeru pauses, wondering how to finish this thought. Nothing sounds quite right in his head. He settles for, “I'm glad you were there tonight.”

To his surprise, he feels Kyoutani's hand slide over his underneath the blankets. “Me too,” Kyoutani mutters, tangling their fingers together again. 

“Kyou—”

Kyoutani groans. “Go to sleep.”

“I can't.”

“You can.” 

Shigeru opens his mouth to protest again, but then Kyoutani ducks his head and presses his lips against Shigeru's knuckles. 

“You're safe here,” he mutters, tightening his grasp on Shigeru's hand.

“I know,” Shigeru whispers. 

Kyoutani peers at him in the darkness. The moon is still bright outside, shining enough light through the blinds that Shigeru can see the broad strokes of Kyoutani's face, the unfamiliar gentleness of his expression. 

“Yahaba,” he says after several long moments, his voice low and husky.

Shigeru tenses, certain that Kyoutani is about to tell him off, but then he feels the pillow move, sees the shape of Kyoutani moving forward in the dark.

Kyoutani’s fingers trail up the length of his arm, gently brushing the skin of his upper arm so that goosebumps ripple over him, then touching his shoulder through the borrowed t-shirt. Shigeru shivers when Kyoutani's fingertips drag up the side of his neck, before brushing along his jawline. He's making sure he doesn’t go too far, Shigeru realises, when Kyoutani's thumb pauses on his chin, tilting his head towards him slightly. 

Even then, the kiss is a little off-centre. Shigeru turns his head to correct it and Kyoutani's lips slide from the corner of his mouth to capture his bottom lip. 

“Ah—” Shigeru gasps, very aware suddenly that Kyoutani is touching him, and he's just lying there uselessly. 

Kyoutani breaks away from him, just a little way, and blinks at him steadily. “Yahaba,” he says again, almost whispers. “Alright?”

Shigeru nods. “Please don't stop.” 

Kyoutani's hand cups his jaw, then slips down to his neck, where his fingers thread through Yahaba’s hair.

A shiver runs through him again at the sensation of Kyoutani's fingers touching him, pushing up to cradle the back of his head. Shigeru groans softly before searching out Kyoutani's mouth again, kissing him harder this time. Kyoutani gives under the pressure, his mouth softer than Shigeru could have predicted, his tongue shy, touching Shigeru's bottom lip briefly before pulling away again. 

Shigeru grabs hold of his courage and slowly slips his arm around Kyoutani's waist, moving his hand to press against Kyoutani's back, feeling the strong muscles there beneath his shirt. Kyoutani tenses briefly when Shigeru touches him, inhaling sharply through his nose, but he doesn't pull away. He kisses back harder, his fingers curling tightly in Shigeru's hair. With the arm around his waist, Shigeru pulls him closer, so that they're pressed together from chest to hip. He runs his tongue along Kyoutani's bottom lip.

They break apart a moment later, both panting for breath, far too close not to blush at the contact. Shigeru hesitates for a moment, before sweeping his hand down a little way to the hem of Kyoutani's tank top. He plays at the edge with his fingertips, flirting with the idea of pulling it up, but he makes sure to catch Kyoutani's eye first. 

"Do you—uh, was that—what you want?" Kyoutani stammers. 

Shigeru nods, leaning in again before the words slowly permeate. "Wait," he says, halting just before their lips meet. He pulls back, shuffling away from Kyoutani a little way. "What—what does that mean, what _I_ want? What about you?"

"Me too," Kyoutani growls. “Obviously.”

Just like that, Shigeru's nerves melt away. He knows this. He knows Kyoutani. Shigeru laughs under his breath, and feels Kyoutani tense beside him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Shigeru murmurs, pressing forward to kiss him again, melting away the twist of uncertainty on his mouth. “I'm not—laughing at you,” Shigeru murmurs between kisses. 

“Better not be,” Kyoutani growls in response, and the sound makes Shigeru tremble. 

“Kyou,” he sighs, the word escaping without his permission. Kyoutani swallows it from his lips, kissing him deeply. They come together again, wrapping their arms around one another, pressing in so close and warm that it's hard to breathe, hard to think. Kyoutani's fingers are in his hair, and Shigeru’s knee is pressing down Kyoutani's thigh. 

A loud creak in the hallway makes them jump and back away, untangling from each other guiltily. They lie there in silence for a moment, their breathing heavy, then Kyoutani sighs in relief.

“It's just my aunt going to bed,” he says gruffly, sounding a little reproachful. 

Shigeru pokes him in the chest. “You were just as worried as I was,” he whispers.

“Was not,” Kyoutani mumbles. He shuffles on the spot and makes a disgruntled sound. “We should sleep. Roll over.”

“Bossy,” Shigeru mutters, but he does it anyway. 

When he's finally gotten comfortable, he feels Kyoutani move closer. He presses against Shigeru’s back, and tentatively wraps an arm around his waist. Grinning, Shigeru grabs his hands and tugs the arm tighter around himself, relaxing back against Kyoutani's chest. 

“Night, Kyou,” he murmurs. 

Kyoutani nuzzles into the nape of his neck. His response is soft, muffled by Shigeru’s hair.

Shigeru takes in a deep breath and releases it, then closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't wanna be That Person but ... more comments really do make me write faster :'D


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nii-chan,” Yue says, sounding both scandalised and delighted. “Why do you have a boy in your futon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter count went up because I'm a liar who lies
> 
> this _is_ the final chapter (and boy is it a whopper), but there'll be a brief epilogue some time in the next few days :3

Like most mornings, Kentarou is woken the next day by the sound of Yue charging up the stairs and sliding open his bedroom door.

“Nii-chan!” she yells into his room, as Kentarou starts to push himself up on one elbow. “Breakfast! It's your turn to—”

She cuts herself off suddenly with a gasp. It takes a few moments for Kentarou to realize why, but then he hears a soft groan beside him and he suddenly remembers Yahaba.

“Uhh—”

“Nii-chan,” Yue says, sounding both scandalised and delighted. “Why do you have a boy in your futon?”

Yahaba makes a disgruntled sound and rolls over, limbs flailing in his sleep so that the two of them collide and he accidentally punches Kentarou in the gut.

“Shit—” Kentarou heaves. He scowls in the direction of the door and chokes out, “Yue, go away—”

Yue rolls her eyes and slams the door shut so hard that it rattles in its frame. “Breakfast!” she yells through the door, before she walks away.

“Mrr nnh hmn—” Yahaba mumbles.

Kentarou swallows and looks down at him. Yahaba still seems to be asleep, his breathing slow and even, and his expression slack. His lips are parted very slightly, making it impossible for Kentarou to think of anything but kissing him. It feels almost as if last night happened to someone else, and he was just there watching it. If Yahaba wasn't still right here, Kentarou might think that he'd dreamed the whole thing. He can still remember the sensation of opening his eyes in the darkness of Yahaba's bedroom, of feeling that man grabbing at him.

Kentarou realises that he's clenching his fists tightly. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down, but it's so tempting to be angry on Yahaba's behalf. With a sigh, he lies back down, rolling to face Yahaba across the pillow.

As he watches, Yahaba shifts slightly in his sleep, and his messy fringe falls over his eyes. Without thinking, Kentarou reaches down and brushes it gently to one side. He discovered last night that Yahaba's hair is soft and thick, and feels good between his fingers. A memory surges up, of kissing Yahaba on the climbing frame at the shrine, of his hand around the back of Yahaba's neck, stroking through his hair and cradling his head while they kissed.

Yahaba's brow creases and he makes a soft sound again. Kentarou snatches his hand back, but it's too late; he's been caught. Yahaba's eyes blink open slowly and he stares up at Kentarou for a long moment.

"Hey," he says quietly.

Kentarou swallows. "Hey."

Yahaba closes his eyes again and groans into the pillow. "God," he mumbles. "What time is it?"

"It's early." Kentarou hasn't actually checked; he reaches over for his phone and winces. "Yeah. Sleep more, if you want."

"I will sleep more," Yahaba says, muffled but solemn. He shuffles closer, his knees pressing up against Kentarou's, hand falling beside his in the space between them.

Kentarou swallows heavily again. He wants to burrow back under the covers with Yahaba and pretend he can still exist in the strange dreamspace of the night before. But he can't help thinking of the man in Yahaba's room, the one he was looking forward to meeting at the party. Kentarou doesn't want to, doesn't mean to, but he can't help feeling like he collected the consolation prize last night. Kissing Yahaba was amazing, but he won't get his hopes up.

Yue's voice echoes from downstairs, and Kentarou sighs before carefully edging out of bed. Yahaba makes another sleepy, questioning noise as he gets up. Pausing, Kentarou crouches down and leans over him to brush his fringe back again. He hesitates, feeling stupid and self-conscious, but before he can second guess himself, Kentarou leans down and kisses Yahaba's forehead.

"I'll be back," he murmurs, reaching for the duvet and tugging it up around Yahaba's shoulders, because he knows Yahaba is a wimp about the cold.

 

 

Kentarou has almost finished cooking breakfast when a floorboard creaks outside the kitchen and Yue’s incessant chatter suddenly hushes. He looks over his shoulder and catches her eye; she looks excited and nervous, and he can’t help hoping that his own feelings aren’t as obvious as his sister’s.

“You,” he says, gesturing at her with the spatula. “Down.”

“Ugh, fi—ine,” Yue grumbles, hopping down from the counter.

Kentarou turns back to the door. “Hey,” he calls out, reaching over to slide it open with his foot. “Creeping again?”

Yahaba stands awkwardly with his arms folded. "You know me," he says, meeting Kentarou's eyes with a brief, insincere smile. It hurts, after the apparent intimacy he pulled himself away from just a little while earlier. Yahaba doesn't seem to notice. "Is your family around?"

"Aunt Chika's at work." Kentarou gestures behind him. "Yue's in here, supposedly to help."

"I am helping!" Yue protests loudly.

Kentarou smirks at her, allowing himself to be distracted from Yahaba. It's hard enough talking to him at the best of times. Yue gestures for him to come closer, and Kentarou bends to give her his ear.

"Is he going to eat with us?" she asks in a loud whisper.

"Dunno." Kentarou straightens up and looks at Yahaba, still lingering outside the kitchen. "You hungry?" he asks reluctantly,

"I could eat," Yahaba says, sounding uncharacteristically sheepish as he steps through the open door.

Kentarou notices that he's borrowed a pair of socks, and sweatpants from the laundry heap. The thought of Yahaba in his dirty clothes makes a violent flush curl around the back of his neck. The sweatpants don't really reach Yahaba's ankles, but they fit okay otherwise. Kentarou tears his eyes away as Yahaba steps closer to inspect his cooking.

"You made all this?"

"Yue beat the eggs," Kentarou says, gesturing with the spatula again. "She's a pretty good cook. Strong, too."

"Nii-chan!" Yue wails, curling in on herself.

Kentarou frowns. Yue doesn't usually shy away from praise or attention, but then he notices the direction she’s aiming her starry-eyed gaze and sighs. Of course. He'd forgotten about her sudden crush on Yahaba. Too busy worrying about his own.

"Do you always cook breakfast?" Yahaba asks.

Kentarou shrugs.

"Nii-chan is the best cook!" Yue exclaims, shuffling closer to him and Yahaba. "He's even better than Aunt Chika!"

"Don't be rude about Auntie," Kentarou chides, turning around to swat at her gently with the spatula. "I'm nothing special."

"Nii-chan looks after both of us," Yue goes on, unbothered. She wraps both arms around one of his and sighs up at Yahaba. "You have a sister too, don't you, Onii-san?"

"I have two actually," Yahaba says, taking a couple of steps over to the table. He pulls out two chairs and gestures for Yue to join him.

Kentarou half listens while they talk quietly. The way Yahaba behaves with Yue makes something go soft and weak inside of him, something that feels like trembling hands at his jaw, a shaky kiss in his bed. Scowling at his own useless imagination, Kentarou throws himself into finishing breakfast, slamming plates and pans around to drown out the sound of Yahaba and Yue becoming best friends.

"Come on," he says shortly, when he's done, but neither of them pay him any attention. He scowls and raises his voice. "Hey, food's up."

Yue keeps talking, but Yahaba's eyes flick over to meet his. He smiles awkwardly and turns back to Yue, quietly hushing her and turning her attention to Kentarou.

"Grab your plate, Yue-chan," he says gruffly.

"Breakfast!" she cheers, jumping out of her seat. She reaches over and grabs hold of Yahaba's wrist, tugging him out of his chair and across the small kitchen.

Kentarou opens his mouth to say something to her, but stops himself at the soft smile on Yahaba's face. He's never been very good at disciplining Yue in any case, and it's not fair to tell her off just because he's jealous that she's getting more attention than he is. They carry their food through to the front room, settling in front of the T.V., and Yue chatters aimlessly over her favourite show while he and Yahaba eat mostly in silence.

They're sitting in the same places they were the previous day when they studied together. It doesn't feel like only a day has passed since then. Kentarou has the overwhelming urge to lean closer to Yahaba, especially when he shivers and rubs his hands over the goosebumps spreading down his arms.

"Cold?"

Yahaba turns, his eyes wide with surprise. "Ah, a little," he says, with a guilty smile. "I forgot it was cold here."

"I'd lend you my hoodie..." Kentarou mutters, letting the sentence trail off.

Yahaba looks away, his smile twisting awkwardly. "Yeah," he says, looking down at his half eaten food. "Sorry, I didn't mean to take it home with me. I'll bring it to school tomorrow."

"It's fine."

Kentarou goes back to his food, and ignoring Yahaba. He wonders what Yue would say, if he were to shuffle closer to Yahaba, put an arm around him maybe. She's already caught them in bed together, so it's possible she wouldn't even blink at the sight of him cuddling up now. He doesn't move.

When they've finished eating, Yahaba jumps up to carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen, and Kentarou follows, watching him pile the dishes by the sink. He leans against the doorway, a sardonic expression on his face.

"Do princesses even know how to wash dishes?" he asks, before it occurs to him that if they aren't talking about last night, that probably means the princess thing is off limits too.

"Of course they do," Yahaba replies, before he can say anything to cover his blunder. He turns on the tap and puts his hand under the water to wait for it to warm up.

Kentarou snorts and walks over to help, but Yahaba turns quickly and they crash into one another, Yahaba standing on Kentarou's foot, and Kentarou's elbow jamming into Yahaba's ribs. They both rear away from each other, muttering apologies. Kentarou's ears are hot. He should say something, he knows he should. He won't have the right words to take away the awkwardness, but there must be _something_ he could say. He opens his mouth to try, but Yahaba gets there first.

"I should go home."

Kentarou wilts. "Oh. Yeah."

"Thank you for breakfast," Yahaba says quickly. "I—I can help, if you want." He turns back to the dishes. "It's the least I can do."

"It's fine," Kentarou says, reaching over to turn off the water. "We can do it." He should explain that there's a rota, that it's Yue's turn to wash up today just like it was his turn to cook, but he doesn't know how to start explaining their household rota and he feels stupid even considering it.

"Well," Yahaba murmurs, backing away instead. "I'll, um. Go get dressed."

Yahaba hovers in the doorway a moment longer, but Kentarou is still stuck on the rota, and how to put into words that he would never expect a guest to clean up, that he likes cooking for Yahaba, that he liked having him to stay. Before he can reach the end of his train of thought, Yahaba has disappeared from the doorway, and Kentarou can hear his heavy footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

Rather than dwell on it, Kentarou turns and starts to rinse the dishes. Yue appears in the doorway a minute later, accompanied by the ending theme of the show she was watching.

"Nii-chan, that's my job," she says, reaching over to nudge him aside. "You made breakfast already, you should go and see Shigeru-kun."

Kentarou looks down at her, surprised by her words. "What's that mean?"

"He's leaving soon, he said.” Yue takes the dish from his hands and bumps him aside again with her hip. "And he's your best friend, so you should go see him before he leaves."

Kentarou almost chokes. "Wha—why is he my best friend?" he hisses.

"Nii-chan," Yue says reproachfully, turning to him. She has a wise look on her face that's almost unsettling. "You like him a lot, I can tell. Don't be mean to him."

"Uh, right," he says, feeling lost. "I'll—uh, don't drop anything, I'll be right back."

"Yeah, yeah," Yue says, rolling her eyes.

Kentarou hurries upstairs. The door to his bedroom is ajar, but he hesitates on the landing, wondering if he should knock before walking in. They've seen each other in every state of undress, and last night Yahaba _wanted_ him to watch, but that was last night. He raises his hand, ready to knock, but then the door opens and Yahaba blinks at him, startled. "Kyou," he says, his surprised look sliding momentarily into an easy smile. "Were you waiting to come into your own room?"

"I didn't wanna interrupt," Kentarou mutters, looking away. Yahaba has changed out of his borrowed sweatpants into the slacks from last night, but he's holding his crumpled shirt in his hands. Kentarou forces his eyes away from Yahaba's bare chest. "You leaving?

Yahaba nods. "I was just going to make use of that pilfered toothbrush before I go." He frowns. "And...I don't suppose you own a hairbrush? I really don't want to go home looking like I slept in the street." He sighed heavily. "My parents are going to kill me as it is."

"I'll get Yue's," Kentarou mutters, resisting the urge to make a jab about his bedroom being like sleeping in the street.

It takes a while to find the hairbrush, and Kentarou returns just as Yahaba is pouting at himself in the bathroom mirror, still shirtless.

"Admiring yourself?"

Yahaba jumps, his eyes flicking to meet Kentarou's in the mirror. "I was just—nothing," he mutters, looking away again as he reaches for his shirt.

Kentarou catches sight of a bruise on Yahaba's hip, but then he pulls on his shirt, and it's hidden from view again. He feels guilty, suddenly. He's spent all morning sulking while Yahaba has been through hell this weekend.

"Give me a minute," he says, taking a step back. "I'll walk you to the station."

"I remember the way, I was here yesterday—"

Kentarou scowls. He knows that Yahaba is trying to get rid of him, but tough. They've still got a whole year of volleyball to play together. Yahaba can just deal with it. "I'll walk you," he says, in a tone that won't brook refusal.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Kyoutani's decision to show him the way to the station is appreciated, but Shigeru doesn't much feel like the company. He's felt miserable and ill-tempered since he woke up in Kyoutani's bed, the familiar scent clinging to him, but the sheets cold around him. It's not as if he expected to wake up cuddled together like dreamy lovers in a romance story, but he feels a little hurt that Kyoutani got out of bed without waking him. He knows it's stupid to feel jealous of Kyoutani and his sister, especially given that Yue spent the whole morning fawning over _him_ , but it's not Yue's attention that he wants.

They reach the station far too quickly, before Shigeru has thought of anything to say to dispel the awkwardness hanging between them. It feels strange to think that his body was here last night, while he was sitting on top of the climbing frame at the shrine, shivering in the cold. He wonders why they haven't switched again since that first kiss. Wondering brings the memory of it crashing back, and Shigeru finds himself blushing as they reach the steps leading up to the station.

"Thanks," he says, feeling too shy to meet Kyoutani's eyes when his mind is busy supplying him with the memory of how Kyoutani's mouth tastes, how forcefully he kisses, how good he looks in just his underwear.

"Yeah," Kyoutani mutters, predictably gruff with him.

Shigeru wants to reach out to him, but his hands are shoved in his pockets, and Shigeru isn't nearly brave enough to do anything more than reach out and touch Kyoutani's hand in broad daylight. He just shrugs and smiles instead. "Okay, see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Thanks for letting me stay," Shigeru says, a little desperately.

Kyoutani just nods. Sighing, Shigeru gives up, and turns to hurry up the stairs. When he pauses at the top to look behind him, Kyoutani has already gone.

Shigeru's mood plummets while he waits for his train to come. He was hoping that once he got Kyoutani on his own, they'd have a moment to talk about the previous night, but it doesn't seem likely that Kyoutani wants to talk about anything with him. Shigeru finally gives in and turns his phone back on. He has more messages from Sadashi, a couple from Tora, and one from Kichiro instructing him to 'Call me back immediately'.

"Yeah, right," Shigeru mutters to himself, deleting the message before going through and reading the others. Sadashi sent a couple more the previous night, which he ignored, asking him about his mystery sleepover host, and then one just a little while ago asking when he'll be home.

_on my way_ , he types to her. _are their royal majesties going to impale me?_

Sadashi replies quickly.

_ooh good you're alive_  
_they've gone out, but don't worry. things are kinda smoothed over, it won't be as bad as you think_

Shigeru frowns. _???_ , he types.

_just come home_

With a sigh, he puts his phone away in his pocket again and stares out of the window. It's a nice day; overcast, but with the sun peeking through odd chinks in the clouds. He spent the journey to Kyoutani's house yesterday reading a book; this time, he looks out of the window, enraptured by the landscape. Kyoutani's house itself isn't very picturesque, just old and drafty, but the countryside surrounding it is a pleasant mix of sloping hills with sporadic copses, and flat farmland with rice paddies shining in the weak sunlight.

The train rolls around a corner, tipping him sideways in his seat, and the cold metal of the armrest brushes against his arm. With an involuntary shudder, Shigeru suddenly remembers the sensation of Uemura climbing over him in the dark, cold fingers pressing hard into his skin to hold him down. He wraps his arms tightly around himself and stares at a poster above his head for local adult learning courses. He entertains, briefly, the thought of calling Kyoutani. The idea makes him laugh under his breath—what would they even say to each other?—but it makes him feel better to think about Kyoutani, remembering the warmth of his arms, and the way he held Shigeru so tightly, the way he seemed to _care_.

_Get over it_ , Shigeru thinks, forcing it down and sitting lower in his seat. Kyoutani didn't seem to be interested in picking up where they left off last night, and Shigeru has plenty of other things to occupy him in the meantime.

He starts to feel nervous as the train approaches his station. Shigeru almost considers just not getting off, riding the train all the way to its terminus instead, but he sighs and forces himself to stand and disembark just before the doors close. It's strange to feel so nervous even though he knows that his parents won't be there waiting for him, but the trepidation he feels as he greets the doorman and steps into the elevator of their building is a heavy weight in his stomach.

When he steps off on their floor, Shigeru puts his hands in his pockets and realises that he doesn't have the key. He says a silent prayer that Sadashi is right and his parents still aren't home, then he knocks on the door.

After a minute or so, Sadashi opens the door in her pyjamas. Her face is lit up with excitement, and Shigeru can tell that she's going to start asking him questions. In that moment, he realises he has so much to tell her, but nothing to say. She takes a breath as he steps inside and shuts the door, but hesitates before she speaks, looking at him curiously.

"Shigeru—"

Shigeru shakes his head, slowly, and then he's crying again, tears rolling down his cheeks and his breath seizing in his throat. Sadashi grabs him and pulls him into a crushing hug, her fingers pulling tight in the material of his shirt.

"Oh, Shigeru," she says quietly, reaching up to cup the back of his head gently. "What happened? Did something happen with your friend? Was it Uemura? We were so worried when you ran off like that, I thought Tora was going to break Uemura's arm as well as his nose—"

Shigeru laughs, coughing wetly. He pulls back a little and wipes his face with the heel of his palm. "S-sorry," he mutters.

"Don't be sorry, idiot," she says, cuffing his arm gently. "What, you think I'm going to make fun of you for crying?" She gives him a watery grin, before folding her sleeve over her hand and reaching up to wipe his cheek. "You suck, you know. I always cry when you cry."

Shigeru returns her weak smile. "Yeah, I know," he mutters, letting her dab at his face. "Sorry."

"Another apology," she says, patting at his other cheek. "What happened to my bitchy little brother, hm?"

"Fuck off," he says affectionately, grabbing for her wrist. He pulls her arm around his neck and leans in to hug her again, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. Sadashi holds him tight, while he breathes in the scent of her hair and tries to reassure himself that everything is okay.

Eventually they draw back, both reasonably dry-eyed, and Sadashi reaches back to smooth her long hair with both hands. "Well," she says, patting his shoulder gently. "I think you could use a coffee."

Shigeru goes to change his clothes while Sadashi makes them both coffee. He flinches when he first steps into his bedroom, and finds a scene of destruction he only half remembers. There's half a bloody handprint on the side of the door, presumably from Uemura's broken nose, and his desk chair has been knocked over, half the contents of his desk swept onto the floor. The bed is rumpled, but Shigeru only looks at it briefly before turning his attention away again.

Moving quickly, he picks up his spilled desk contents and stacks them up where they should be, then rights his chair, and casts around for something to put on. He finds a clean pair of sweatpants hidden under his duvet, and a t-shirt stuffed in the bottom of the wardrobe along with Kyoutani's hoodie. He puts that on as well, giving his bed a wide berth on his way to find Sadashi.

"Kichiro called," she says when they settle on the couch together with their oversized mugs of coffee, their feet tangling together in the middle of the seat. "While you were getting changed."

Shigeru glances at her over the top of his mug. "What did he want?"

"Don't get all suspicious with me," she says, brushing her hair back with her free hand. "He just asked if you were home, so I said you were."

"And?"

Sadashi shrugs. "So he said he's coming over."

Shigeru lets out a long, heartfelt groan. " _Why?_ "

"Why is rain wet?" Sadashi says, shrugging again. "We don't have to let him in."

"Right," he mutters, scowling at his coffee.

Sadashi lifts her foot and nudges his thigh. "So? When are you going to tell me what happened?"

It doesn’t take long to recount his misadventure with Uemura. When he starts to tell her about Uemura forcing him onto the bed, she grabs hold of his hand, and for a moment he thinks that she's going to cry, until he sees the fury on her face. He falters a little, when he tries to work out how to explain what happened after he and Kyoutani switched places. He knows, loosely, what happened, but he hadn't exactly pressed Kyoutani for details.

"I thought, um—maybe you called out to me," he says, remembering what Kyoutani _had_ told him. At her blank expression, he continues, "When I ran out? I thought I heard someone behind me."

Sadashi's expression clears. "No," she says in a shaky voice. "That wasn't me, sorry. I was still in the party with Tora."

"Ah," Shigeru says, frowning. "Maybe I imagined it."

But Sadashi is shaking her head. "No, Shigeru—don't you get it? How do you think I know about Uemura leaving?"

Shigeru looks at her, puzzled. "I thought—"

"It was Kichiro," she says, squeezing his hand. "Kichiro saw you go."

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Kentarou manages for about an hour after Yahaba leaves before he starts to feel like he’s crawling out of his skin. He paces around his bedroom, glaring at the folded up futon that still smells of Yahaba, and the stack of homework he hasn't quite finished. His phone is lying on the desk, silent.

Just as he looks away, it buzzes with a message. Kentarou darts across the room and snatches up the phone.

_hey kyou u wanna take the kids swimming next wkend?_  
_chiakkun is bugging me abt seeing yue-chan again_

Kentarou has to check the name three times, because he can't quite believe that Iwaizumi would be texting him. He hesitates before replying; Yue won't turn down a chance at swimming, and she hardly stopped talking about Chiaki the whole night after that first class. Kentarou bites his lip, daring himself to be brave again.

_r u free 2day?_

His thumb hovers over the send button. He's never asked one of his seniors to hang out before. Kentarou can't really remember the last time he asked _anyone_ to hang out. He’s been so busy since going back to volleyball practices, balancing work and homework and looking after Yue, it’s weeks since he saw any of his friends. Well, Iwaizumi will be gone in less than a month. Kentarou hits send.

The reply is less than thirty seconds coming.

_sorry I'm babysitting today_

Of course, Kentarou thinks, scowling at his phone. There's no reason Iwaizumi would want to spend time with someone like him. He's tempted to throw his phone across the room, but he can't really afford to replace it. As he lowers his hand, the phone buzzes again.

_unless u wanna meet me and chiakkun at the park?_

Relief and excitement flood through him.

_yeh ok_ , he texts back. _im briging yue that ok_

_that’s great! i’ll get chiakkun ready and let u know where we’ll be_

Kentarou stares at his phone briefly. Then he jumps to his feet. “Yue! Coat and shoes!”

 

 

They have to take a bus to reach the park on time, but it isn’t too far away. Yue talks excitedly the whole trip there, excited to see Chiaki again. Kentarou mostly feels relieved that it’s taken her mind off Yahaba.

He spots Iwaizumi as soon as they alight at their bus stop, but then he spots something that sets him on edge again immediately.

“Yoohoo!” Oikawa yells, raising his arm to wave. “Kyouken-ch—”

He’s silenced abruptly by Iwaizumi cuffing him around the head. Iwaizumi mutters something to Oikawa that they’re too far away to hear, but it leaves both of them scowling at one another. Either way, Iwaizumi’s intervention comes too late, and Yue tugs on Kentarou’s sleeve nervously.

“Nii-chan,” she asks in a shy voice. “Why did he call you that?”

Kentarou reaches for her hand and casts a glare in Oikawa’s direction. “It’s supposed to be a joke,” he mutters, clutching her hand tightly.

“Does he play volleyball too?”

“Yeah,” Kentarou mutters. Iwaizumi, at least, looks apologetic. Oikawa looks like an ostrich trying to cry. Maybe that’s his apologetic face. “He was the team captain.”

Yue’s eyes widen. “Ohh,” she says, looking up at Oikawa. “I don’t think he’s very funny.”

Kentarou snorts. “Yeah,” he mutters, squeezing her hand. “Me neither.”

“Kyoutani!” Iwaizumi calls, when they’re within reasonable shouting distance. He nudges Oikawa in the arm—not gently, by the looks of it—before walking up to meet them. “Hello again, Yue-chan,” he says, grinning at her.

Yue blushes and presses closer to Kentarou’s side. “Um, h—hello, I—Iwa—”

“You can call me Hajime,” he says, with a smile that makes Kentarou’s stomach turn. “Chiaki’s playing on the slide with Takeru, you wanna join them?”

“Takeru’s my nephew,” Oikawa says, using the same winning smile that he usually turns on for his fanclub. “You’re all the same age, is that right, Yue-chan?”

“Who even are you?” Yue asks in a cold tone. Kentarou tenses, his fingers clenching instinctively around Yue’s hand, stunned at her sudden brazenness.

“Uh—” he says awkwardly, torn between feeling proud of her for sassing Oikawa, and trying to think how best to apologise for her rudeness. He’s saved from making a decision by a sudden, noisy burst of laughter from Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yells, his lip curling. “Don’t laugh when I’m being schooled by a little girl!”

His words only make Iwaizumi worse. He bends over, clutching at his stomach and laughing harder than Kyoutani has ever seen him laugh before.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning anyway. He bows to Yue and gives her another smile, less sickly sweet. “I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he says simply. “I’m Iwa-chan’s best friend.”

Kentarou looks at him in surprise; he would have expected Oikawa to introduce himself as the captain, or something else more... _Oikawa_. Yue seems equally surprised by the introduction. She looks over at the still-giggling Iwaizumi, who grabs hold of Oikawa’s arm to support himself and grins at her.

“It’s true,” he manages. “Unfortunately for me.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Iwa-chan, what have I told you about misrepresenting me to nice young women?”

“I think Yue-chan is smart enough to tell what you're like without my help.” Iwaizumi winks at her and she draws into Kentarou’s side again. When he glances down at her, she's blushing. Great. At this rate she'll have a crush on his whole team.

“Hey,” Kentarou says, tugging on her hand. He crouches down and double checks that her coat is fastened. “Wanna go play with the others?”

Yue glances at Iwaizumi and Oikawa, then nods.

“I was going to play some volleyball with the boys,” Oikawa says, reaching for his backpack and unzipping it to reveal a very well worn ball. “Do you want to play, Yue-chan?”

She frowns a little. “I don't really know how,” she admits. “I've watched nii-chan play sometimes…”

“Chiaki and Takeru are pretty new to it as well,” Iwaizumi says kindly. “And Oikawa's a really good teacher.”

Yue eyes them both with suspicion, but she obviously likes Iwaizumi enough to overcome her distrust of Oikawa, because she nods again. “Okay, Oikawa Tooru,” she says, planting her hands on her hips. “Let's see what you've got.”

Iwaizumi starts laughing again, but Oikawa doesn't look the slightest bit annoyed. He gets the same look on his face as when he's sizing up opponents, and Kentarou can only feel pride that Oikawa is looking at Yue as a real threat.

The two of them walk off toward the playground, Yue stomping after Oikawa with purpose.

“Your sister's a firecracker,” Iwaizumi says approvingly, bumping Kentarou's elbow with his own. “I can see the family resemblance.”

Kentarou shrugs. “She's normally polite.”

“And I'm sure you'd tell her off,” Iwaizumi says, grinning. “If she was sassing anyone else.”

The direct hit makes Kentarou blush a little, and he can't help but return Iwaizumi's grin with a smirk. “She can give as good as she gets.”

“Can't say the same for Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, turning in the direction of the playground and tilting his head for Kentarou to follow.

They start to walk, side by side, ambling along in a comfortable silence. They pass by the playground, where Oikawa is ushering the kids away from the swings so they can play volleyball.

“I'm glad you suggested this,” Iwaizumi says at last.

“Were you busy?”

“Just revising for exams.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Between that idiot chattering in my ear, and Chiaki whining because he's bored, I think I remember less than when I started.”

"Uhh, I'm sure you'll do great," Kentarou says. He knows that Iwaizumi may not be as dumb as he is, but he's not in the top class like Oikawa, and he works hard for his grades. He's probably doing even better now that he doesn't have volleyball to worry about anymore.

Iwaizumi smiles at him. "Thanks, Kyou," he says, catching his eye before looking away briefly toward the playground. They've left it behind now, but the park isn't that big. Kentarou can still just about see Yue, standing in a circle with Oikawa and the two boys.

"So," Iwaizumi says at last, in his serious voice. "You okay?"

Kentarou blinks at him. "Yeah."

"Okay," Iwaizumi says, shrugging. "I just thought maybe something was bothering you. Last time, when we met at the pool, it seemed like you wanted to talk about something."

Kentarou shoves his hands deeper in his pockets and looks down at his feet. He thinks, if there’s anyone he can really trust, it’s Iwaizumi. After all, despite what else might have happened between them, he trusts Yahaba. If he can trust Yahaba, he can definitely trust Iwaizumi.

"Yahaba...stayed over," he says, then frowns, because that wasn't really what he'd meant to say. "Um."

"Oh, wow," Iwaizumi says, doing a poor job of covering his surprise. "That's...unexpected?"

Kentarou snorts. "Yeah."

"So, things are going well between you two now?"

"I guess," Kentarou mutters, looking down at the ground again. He kicks an empty plastic bottle out of the path with a sigh. Iwaizumi drops back, and when Kentarou looks up again, Iwaizumi has ventured onto the wet grass to fetch the bottle. He comes back, carrying it between his thumb and forefinger, and gives Kentarou a tight smile.

"Don't tell Oikawa I was picking up trash," he says, walking over to a bin along the side of the path and depositing the bottle. He wipes his hands on his jeans, and makes a face in Oikawa’s direction. "He seems to think it’s funny that I want to study Ecology."

Kentarou feels guilty for kicking the bottle, but he's not sure how to apologise without looking stupid. Iwaizumi doesn't seem to expect him to, so he remains silent. Still, he recognises that he's making Iwaizumi do all the work in this conversation.

"Uh, Ecology," he says, feeling slow and dull. "That's like...the environment and shit."

"Yeah, something like that," Iwaizumi says, giving him a crooked smile. "The world is kinda fucked, unless we do something drastic soon, you know?"

Kentarou has never really thought about whether or not the world was fucked. He suspects Oikawa knows plenty about it. "So you're gonna save the world?"

Iwaizumi laughs, loud and open. "Yeah," he says, grinning. "Something like that, I hope."

"Like Superman."

"I like Captain America better."

Kentarou's smile is brittle. "I haven't seen that."

"We should watch it, before I leave."

Kentarou almost swallows his tongue. "Okay," he says, wondering how the hell he became friends with the coolest senpai in the world, and wishing he'd worked out the secret sooner. "Yeah."

"Cool," Iwaizumi agrees. "So, you and Yahaba."

"Yeah?"

"That's a pretty quick leap from fighting to sleepovers."

Something about the words set Kentarou on edge, and his ears start to feel warm. "It's not—” he says quickly. "We don't—it just—”

"Hey, it's fine, I'm not judging you guys," Iwaizumi says quickly, looking worried. "I just wanted to check you're okay."

"I'm fine," Kentarou mutters.

"And Yahaba?"

Kentarou shrugs. "Not for me to say."

He makes to keep walking, but Iwaizumi catches at his sleeve. "Kyoutani, hold on a second." Kentarou turns, keeping his hands in his pockets. His shoulders are tense, and for a moment Iwaizumi looks almost sad. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, letting his hand fall back to his side. “You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to, but I’m here if you do.”

Kentarou chews on his bottom lip. It reminds him of Yahaba biting it, sucking on it softly when they kissed the night before. He wonders where Yahaba learned to kiss; he wasn’t great, but not awful. At least as good as Kentarou himself.

“He...had trouble at home,” Kentarou ventures, after the silence stretches out long enough that he can hear the shouts of the kids on the other side of the park. “He came over, and—” Kentarou finds that he can’t say it out loud. He looks away, blushing and gnawing his bottom lip furiously. “It’s nothing anyway,” he mutters, throwing his weight onto one leg and kicking out at a stray rock with the other foot. “It won’t happen again.”

Iwaizumi watches him for a few moments, the quiet between them feeling awkward and strained.

"He kissed me," Kentarou blurts, ignoring the heat crawling across the back of his neck. It feels good to say it, even here in the middle of a park, where anyone might walk by and hear him. Even to Iwaizumi, who might turn away in disgust and never look at him again. "Or—I kissed him. We—” he sighs, hanging his head. "I think...I like him. I never really—liked girls that way."

Iwaizumi is quiet for a few moments, then he clears his throat softly. "Yahaba's the same?"

Kentarou shrugs, but Iwaizumi must take his non-answer for agreement, because he sighs and says, "I figured."

Kentarou squints at him. "You knew? About Yahaba?"

"Nah," Iwaizumi murmurs, scuffing the toe of his sneaker on the ground. "I had a feeling, that's all." He catches Kentarou's eye for a moment and gives him an apologetic half-smile. "If I'm honest, I had a feeling about you too."

It feels like everything in Kentarou seizes up, freezing like there's a pillar of ice right through his core. "Do—does it bother you?"

Iwaizumi's face screws up. "What? No, of course not."

"Oh," Kentarou says, and wonders why that's all he can say.

"I guess it explains a lot about you two though," Iwaizumi says at last, cracking a genuine smile.

Kentarou colours. "What's that mean?"

"You know, always sniping at each other, getting in fights—” Iwaizumi gestures vaguely. "It just makes sense, that's all."

For some stupid reason, Kentarou feels the need to defend himself. "Well...you and Oikawa fight all the time," he says.

Iwaizumi's nose scrunches again, making his expression look almost angry, although Kentarou doesn't think that's quite it. "It's different," Iwaizumi says at length.

He doesn't elaborate, and Kentarou doesn't ask him to. After a minute or so, by silent consent, they start to walk again in the vague direction of the playground.

"I know I said I'd listen," Iwaizumi says eventually, "but I feel kinda guilty for not having any actual advice for you." He sighs, pulling one hand from his pocket and running it through his hair. "It's not like I have a ton of dating experience, and Oikawa's dated half the female high school population of Miyagi but he's an absolute _disaster_ at it."

Kentarou grits his teeth. He definitely does not want romantic advice from Oikawa. He's not sure he wants any romantic advice full stop. The idea of romance and Yahaba in the same sentence just feels weird and uncomfortable, like putting his shoes on the wrong feet. Then again, if he thinks about last night, the brief time they spent sitting on the climbing frame in the moonlight, he can't help but think that other people would call that romantic.

The thought makes him want to hit something.

"Hey," Iwaizumi says when they start to near the playground again. They can hear the sound of laughter, and the _thwack_ of the volleyball. "Sorry for dredging it all up."

Kentarou shakes his head. "It's fine."

Iwaizumi nudges him and lengthens his stride, pulling ahead before turning back to grin at him. "Hey, wanna get Oikawa to toss for us?"

Spiking a volleyball sounds really, really good.

"Yeah," Kentarou says, fighting a smile. "But I'm not asking."

Iwaizumi beams. "Oi, Lamekawa!” he yells, turning back to the playground. “Your form is terrible!"

“Iwa-chan, how dare you!”

 

 

 

 

*** 

 

 

 

 

Before Shigeru can find anything to say, there’s a knock at the door. He and Sadashi exchange looks.

"We don't have to let him in," she suggests.

Shigeru shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure he's got a key. Plus he'd only complain about us to dad."

She shrugs, not bothering to deny what they both know is true. "I'll go," she says instead, climbing to her feet.

Shigeru stands up as well, too nervous to sit and wait. It's not that he has the slightest dread of being told off by Kichiro—he's been pointlessly lectured once too often by his older brother to give much credence to anything he says—but the idea of his unfortunate blunder with Uemura getting back to his parents is unsettling to say the least.

Kichiro's voice echoes in the hallway, answered quietly by Sadashi. Their voices are just too low to make out the words, but Shigeru doesn't have long to wait. Kichiro's footsteps hurry along the hallway and then the door is flung wide. He looks unimposing for once, wearing jeans and a hoodie, and looking so unlike his usual self that Shigeru is too busy being surprised by his appearance to react when Kichiro crosses the room and pulls him into a tight hug.

Sadashi, coming to stand in the doorway, stares at them wide-eyed.

"Uh—” Shigeru says, staring back at her.

"Thank god you're safe," Kichiro mutters, squeezing him hard, before pulling back suddenly and seizing his shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Shigeru blinks at him. "Kichiro, what—”

"Are you alright?" Kichiro asks, his voice rising, closer to the demanding tone that Shigeru is more familiar with. He reaches up and cups Shigeru's face, peering at him with an anxious expression. "God, Shigeru, did he hurt you?"

Shigeru pulls back, away from him, his pulse beating erratically in his neck. “What? Who?”

Kichiro looks furious. “Masa, of course,” he snaps. “Uemura, I mean. I saw you both run out of here last night.”

Cold water cascades over Shigeru, and he takes a step back. A thousand excuses curl up and flame out on his tongue. “I—we—”

No matter how he spins this, he realises, he's got no good reason for taking Uemura into his bedroom, and emerging bruised and bleeding.

Kichiro sighs. “Sadashi, go to your room.”

Shigeru stares, and Sadashi snorts with laughter. “You're not our dad, Kichiro.”

“Sadashi,” he snaps, rounding on her. “What Shigeru and I have to discuss is _private_ , go—”

“Stop it,” Shigeru says crossly. “She already knows everything..”

Kichiro turns back to look at him, his expression doubtful. “Alright,” he says, after several moments of attempting to stare Shigeru out. “Shigeru, I know this might be unpleasant to talk about, but I want to know what Masa did to you.”

“Why does it matter anyway?” Shigeru sighs, suddenly tired. “I can transfer to another prep school in March. You can go back to pretending I'm not around, embarrassing the family.”

Kichiro gives him a withering look. “We're not here to talk about your lacklustre academic effort—”

“Here we go.”

“Or your blatant disregard for the family's reputation—”

“God, Kichiro, lay off,” Sadashi says in a bored voice.

Kichiro glares at her. “Stay out of this, Sada-chan.” He turns back to Shigeru. “Why did you hit him?”

Shigeru bites his lip. He suddenly feels like crying. He suddenly wishes he'd never left Kyoutani’s house. “He tried to make me have sex with him,” Shigeru snarls. His voice cracks halfway through the sentence but he forces it out anyway. Tears burn his eyes. “I knew he liked me, I just wanted to kiss him, but he held me down and threatened to tell everyone what I was if I didn't let him fuck me.”

Kichiro finches slightly when Shigeru swears. His face is lax with shock; he looks away, then lifts a shaking hand and touches his mouth.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Shigeru spits. Tears are running down his face now. Sadashi runs over from the doorway and flings her arms around him.

“I didn't think he—” Kichiro mutters, before breaking off. He puts his head in his hands for a moment, and when he lifts his face again, his expression is dark. “I'm so sorry, Shigeru. I knew he liked men, but—no, I'd never have brought him within a hundred metres of you if I thought—”

Shigeru pushes back from Sadashi slightly and wipes his face on his sleeve. “You...believe me?”

“What? Of course.”

“But—”

“Whatever you do,” Kichiro says suddenly, reaching out to grab his arm. “Don't tell mother and father.”

“He’s not stupid, Kichiro,” Sadashi snaps. “We’re not telling anyone, obviously.”

“And your friend?”

Shigeru looks back at him, trying to keep his expression even. “What friend?”

Kichiro may be acting uncharacteristically solicitous today, but his short temper isn’t much better than usual. “The one you stayed with,” he says impatiently. “We tried to find you last night, you know, until you finally answered the phone.”

“Oh,” Shigeru mutters, colouring slightly. “No,” he lies, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know anything.”

He reaches up and wipes at his face again, remembering that it's Kyoutani's sleeve he's wiping his snot on. His face feels raw from crying so much; in fact, all of him feels raw just thinking about this again. Their comfortable apartment, usually a safe haven, feels close and oppressive, and Shigeru dreads the thought of going back to his bedroom.

"So now you know," he says, uselessly. "He tried to—t-touch me, but I got free, and I hit him."

Kichiro shakes his head and starts pacing. Shigeru exchanges a nervous look with Sadashi; neither of them have seen Kichiro this rattled before, and it's unsettling to see him without his usual self-assured grasp on any situation.

"And," Kichiro says suddenly, pausing and looking at him. "Nobody else knows about this?"

Shigeru grits his teeth. "Just Uemura," he says tightly.

"He won't talk," Kichiro says with a wave of his hand. He looks pensive for a few moments longer, then he straightens up and gives them a weak smile. "Alright. I'll talk to him.

Shigeru's eyes widen. "What? Kichiro, no—”

"Trust me," Kichiro says, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder gently. "I know what to say, don't worry. And don't even think about changing prep schools, unless you want to."

"But—”

Kichiro shushes him gently. "Trust me."

With a sigh, Shigeru shrugs and bows his head. "I trust you, nii-san."

 

 

Going back to school the next day is strange and bewildering. So much has happened since Friday, Shigeru feels like an entirely different person walking into the school building on Monday morning.

Watari catches up with him while he's changing his shoes, greeting him with a smile and launching straight into a story about the mad relatives he visited at the weekend with his family.

"Hey," he says eventually, when it becomes clear that Shigeru is failing to react to his anecdote. "You okay?"

"Tired," Shigeru says, which isn't a lie. Sadashi helped him to change his sheets the evening before, but even so, he lay awake in bed for hours before going and crawling into Sadashi's bed like a scared little boy.

"Get some sleep tonight, yeah?" Watari says, giving him a friendly punch in the shoulder. "We need our captain in top form for practice."

The words are a little hollow, but Watari looks genuinely worried about him, so Shigeru just forces a smile and nods. "I'll do my best."

The morning passes in a daze. Shigeru does his best to stay awake for his classes, as tempting as it might be to put his head down and close his eyes for a few minutes. At lunchtime he finally lets himself rest his head on his arms. He shuts his eyes, half expecting to see Uemura, but all he can think about is Kyoutani. He remembers the way Kyoutani held him; while he cried, while they kissed, while he was falling asleep.

Shigeru almost gets up to look for him, but before he knows it, the bell is chiming and he has to pick up his things and go to science class.

By the time school ends, Shigeru is tired and dragging his feet. He got in trouble with his English teacher for not having finished the homework, something which had completely slipped his mind after everything that happened on Saturday, and he's in a bad mood when he heads to the entrance hall to change his shoes and spots Kyoutani.

"Hey!" he yells, stalking over to him.

Kyoutani looks up and his eyes narrow when he spots Shigeru marching toward him. "What," he says, pulling out his ratty sneakers and dropping them on the floor with a smack.

Shigeru folds his arms. Now that he's here, he hasn't the faintest clue what to say, and the tense set of Kyoutani's shoulders, along with the tight line of his mouth, aren't giving him anything to work with. "Where are you going?" he asks instead.

"Work," Kyoutani mutters.

"Well—”

"I'm gonna be late." Kyoutani grabs his bag and swings it over his shoulder. He looks up, their eyes meeting, and there's _something_ there, just for a moment. It’s gone just as quickly.

Shigeru wants to ask him to wait; he feels pathetic and needy, wanting a little more of Kyoutani's time, but with no idea what he'd do with it. "Don't be late for practice tomorrow," is what he says instead, his voice turning sharp.

Kyoutani glares at him, and says nothing before turning and storming away. Shigeru uncrosses his arms and follows Kyoutani to the door, watching him go with a furious scowl, his fists clenching at his sides. He wants to shout and stamp his foot, or maybe take off one of his shoes and throw it at the back of Kyoutani's head. The thought makes him grin. Yeah, that would be a start.

"So," says a voice at his shoulder.

Shigeru looks behind him and sees Watari standing at his elbow, his eyebrows raised.

"Things aren't going so well with Kyoutani after all?"

"Your words," Shigeru mutters, turning his back on the retreating Kyoutani, and going to fetch his outdoor shoes. He slips them on and straightens up, checking that he has his phone before closing his bag. Watari's shoe cubby is around the other side of the bank of lockers. Shigeru leans around the corner and attempts a smile. "See you for practice tomorrow."

"Hey, hey, hold on," Watari says quickly, reaching out to catch hold of his sleeve. "You're not coming to class?"

Shigeru freezes. He'd somehow forgotten that it was Monday, that he would be expected to show up at prep school, listen to the lecture, take notes, all while pretending that nothing had happened between him and Uemura.

"No," he says slowly. "I—my...mother needs me...to come home. I have to help with something."

Watari gives him a doubtful look. "If you just wanna skive off, you can say so."

"It's not that," Shigeru snaps, clutching at his bag strap. "I have to go. I—just, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," Watari says, shrugging as Shigeru turns away. He could still walk with Watari as far as the station, but he suddenly wants to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Shigeru digs his phone out of his bag and calls Tora.

"Hey," she answers in a noisy whisper. "I'm in calligraphy club, what's up?"

Shigeru swallows hard. "Can you bail?"

"Uh, sure, I guess," she says doubtfully. "Are you okay?"

Shigeru steps out onto the front steps and blinks in the fading sunlight. There's no sign of Kyoutani, and while he stands there, Watari passes him with a brief, backward wave and a shout of, 'See you tomorrow, Captain!'

"Shigeru?"

"No," he says, the words painfully familiar. "No, I'm not okay."

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Morning practice the following day is a mess.

Kentarou is excited to get back to playing volleyball. Practicing in the park on Sunday with Iwaizumi and Oikawa wasn't nearly as excruciating as he'd feared. He was only partly surprised to find that Oikawa really was a good teacher: patient with the kids, and quick to encourage them rather than pull them up on their mistakes. He got them to take turns at spiking the ball along with Iwaizumi and Kentarou, and took his time showing Yue how to run, jump and swing her arm properly to hit the ball. If Kentarou didn't know him better, he might have been a little bit impressed. He can see why Oikawa coaches Little Tykes. He even admitted—only to Yue, on the bus home—that it was fun.

Practice with the team, on the other hand, is nowhere near.

Yahaba shows up late, skidding into the clubroom just as most of their members are leaving in their practice gear. Kentarou was a couple of minutes late himself, so it's just him and a couple of first years still changing when Yahaba appears in the doorway.

"Good morning, Yahaba-san!"

"Yahaba-senpai!"

"Sorry I'm late," Yahaba mutters, dumping his bag down on the bench and beginning to tear his clothes off without ceremony.

Kentarou looks away, digging his volleyball shoes out of his bag and tucking them under his arm. He decides he'll put them on when he gets down to the gym, rather than hang around here longer than he needs to. As he turns to go, Yahaba stands up. He's only wearing his underwear; school trousers bunched around his ankles, his gym shirt clutched in his hand. Their eyes catch for a moment, and Kentarou thinks that Yahaba might be about to say something, but they're interrupted by the first years hurrying out, eager to get down to the gym before the captain does and makes them officially late.

The door slams behind them, and he and Yahaba are left alone.

The silence is heavy. Yahaba is turned away from him, but Kentarou is close enough to see the bruises on his hips, more prominent now than they were on Sunday.

"Hey, uh," he begins, regretting it the second he opens his mouth. "When you got home. Was everything...okay?"

"Meaning what?" Yahaba asks tightly, before tugging his t-shirt over his head.

"With your family."

Yahaba pauses with one arm through a sleeve. "It was fine," he says, after a moment's thought. "Thanks."

Kentarou shakes his head. "For what?

"I don't know," Yahaba says, huffing as he bends down to grab his shorts. "For asking? For—for whatever."

"Whatever," Kentarou repeats quietly. He waits, but Yahaba doesn't say anything else. After a minute of listening to Yahaba get dressed in silence, he walks out of the clubroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

 

Yahaba avoids his eye for the rest of practice, which is no less than Kentarou expects. It makes things a little tricky when they’re put on the same team for warm-up sets, and they’re only ten points in when Mizoguchi starts yelling at them to get their act together.

Kentarou scowls when he's switched out with Hattori, the first year who always comes in on first tempo no matter what play they’re running. He slumps down on the bench and wipes the back of his neck with his t-shirt. Watari, currently sitting out himself, slides along the bench to sit beside him.

"Hey," Kentarou says, figuring it's way past time he makes the first move.

"Hey, Kyou." Watari grins at him and offers him a water bottle, which Kentarou accepts gratefully. They sit in silence for a moment, then Watari leans in a little. "So, Yahaba's playing like shit today, huh?"

Kentarou grunts in response. Watari doesn't need him to confirm something that the whole gym can see without trying.

"You seem a little off your game too, if you don't mind me saying," Watari ventures.

Kentarou throws a dirty look at him. Watari responds with a nervous grin, and holds up his hands up defensively.

"Nah," Kentarou mutters, shrugging. "You're probably right."

"Yeah?" Watari stretches his legs out, his hands balanced on the edge of the bench. "Something on your mind?"

Kentarou shakes his head. "Not really."

Watari hums thoughtfully. "You guys aren't fighting again are you?"

The question takes him by surprise, because Kentarou realises that he doesn't have an answer. He's not sure what happened between waking up on Sunday and watching the sun warm Yahaba's sleeping face, and the way they were in the clubroom this morning, cold and uncertain. "I don't know," he says eventually.

"I can't keep up with you two," Watari says with a sigh. "And now Yahaba's skipping college prep and won’t tell me why. God, I feel like a parent."

Kentarou turns to him. "He what?"

Watari looks surprised. "He didn't come to prep school last night." He shrugs. "Not that he missed much. Turns out our teacher got the sack over something, and they didn't have a replacement in time, so I just spent an hour doing homework."

“Does he know?"

"Yahaba?" Watari says, frowning. "I dunno, probably not."

Kentarou turns back to the court. His eyes run over the moving players, settling on Yahaba. It's his turn to serve, and Kentarou watches him catch a ball from one of the first years, and jog over to the end line.

Yahaba lines up to take his serve, pausing for a moment and closing his eyes to focus. He throws up the ball, and Kentarou is transfixed by the way he moves, by the height of his jump. The ball slams between two first years and rockets off into a corner of the gym. It's not until Fujioka, standing in as referee, blows his whistle and someone tosses Yahaba another ball for his second serve that Kentarou realises he's sitting up tall in seat, a small smile betraying him.

"Hey," Watari says gently, leaning in closer. "For what it's worth, I think you two should talk."

Kentarou’s smile drops away, and he bites the tip of his tongue. “What about?”

Watari snorts. “About whatever’s making you scowl at each other like a couple of angry cats.”

"We're not cats," Kentarou mutters.

“Well, if you think you’re enemies, you’re really bad at it,” Watari says, leaning back in his seat. “Maybe you should try being something else.”

"Kyoutani!" Mizoguchi shouts, making them both jump. "You're in for Kunimi! Yahaba, switch out with Watari!"

"Good luck," Watari says, slapping Kentarou on the shoulder. He lets his hand rest for a second and glances at Yahaba. "And I'm serious, please talk to him. He's driving me nuts."

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

After the awkward run in with Kyoutani that morning, Shigeru hurries to his first class as quickly as he can, taking care not to be caught alone with Kyoutani in the showers or the clubroom.

He's almost reached his classroom when someone yells his name down the hallway. He can hear the slap of running feet and he winces. But then, it doesn't seem like Kyoutani to come chasing him down hallways, and sure enough, moments later Yahaba hears one of the teachers shout, "Don't run in the hallways, Watari-kun!"

Shigeru turns, surprised, in time to see Watari come staggering up to him, red-faced and out of breath.

"Oh," he gasps, grabbing Shigeru's arm. "I thought I'd missed you."

Shigeru stares at him. "Shinji. You could have just texted me."

Watari shakes his head. "Lost my phone at the weekend."

"Oh, shit," Shigeru says, wincing. "Sorry to hear that."

"Eh, it's fine," Watari mutters, waving vaguely. "Listen, you'll want to hear this.”

"Alright," Shigeru says, leaning against the wall. There are still a few minutes until classes begin. "What's up?"

Taking a deep breath, Watari straightens up, but he glances over his shoulder before he starts talking.

Shigeru raises an eyebrow. "Secrets?"

Nodding, Watari leans in closer, his voice low. "Uemura-sensei got the sack."

Shigeru leans back in surprise, his eyes widening. "He _what_?"

"Some admin guy showed up to teach the class last night," Watari says, glancing around again to check that they're not being overheard. "Said something about how Uemura had been forced to resign unexpectedly, other commitments or something."

A mix of conflicting emotions rushes through Shigeru’s head. "He’s gone?" he asks faintly.

"Weird, right? But then, I had to go to the bathroom partway through class, and on my way back I passed the main office, and I overheard them talking about it—”

Shigeru feels a flush of warm appreciation for his friend. "You sneaky little shit," he says approvingly.

Watari grins. "Yeah, so apparently, Uemura didn't quit. His university called the school and said that he'd been suspended from his studies, and that they were terminating all of his teaching without warning."

"Oh my god," Shigeru says, suddenly breathless.

"Yeah! It's crazy, like—”

"No no," Shigeru murmurs. "This—fuck, this had to be Kichiro. Dad's company has ties to the university. That's why he wanted to know—"

Watari frowns at him. “Know what? Who’s Kichiro?”

Shigeru shakes his head vaguely, backing away. His legs feel like jelly. “I—have to go to the bathroom.”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I—yeah.” But his knees go weak under him, and he staggers on his feet.

“Woah—” Watari grabs hold of his arm and drags it around his neck. “Bathroom, yeah? You sure you don’t mean the nurse’s office?”

“No, no,” Shigeru mumbles. He feels faint, and he’s pretty sure people are turning to stare at them, but Watari just leads him calmly across the hallway to the boys’ bathroom.

“Okay,” Watari says, shouldering open one of the cubicles. “Sit.”

“Huh?”

Watari sets him down onto the closed toilet seat and pushes on his shoulder. “Sit there and put your head between your legs.”

Shigeru does as he’s told, bowing his head meekly and wrapping his hands around his ankles. “We have to get to class,” he mumbles into his school trousers.

“So we'll get there a little late,” Watari says, dropping down to a crouch in front of him. He reaches out and grasps one of Shigeru's elbows, running his hand slowly up Shigeru's arm to his shoulder, then back down again. “Hey, you okay?”

Shigeru nods.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Shigeru considers for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Yeah,” Watari says with a snort. “I figured.”

They stay there quietly together for a couple of minutes. Eventually the school bell chimes, announcing the start of classes. “You go,” Shigeru says, sitting up slowly. His head still feels light and his hands are tingling, but he doesn't feel like he's going to fall over. At Watari’s doubtful look, he grins and reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. “I mean it, I'm good. I'll go in a second.”

Watari hums. “Alright, but I'm coming back to check on you in half an hour. If you're still here, we're going to the nurse.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Shigeru insists, rolling his eyes. “It's my fault, I skipped breakfast. I'll eat something and go to class.”

“Half an hour,” Watari says, giving him a stern look as he gets to his feet.

With trembling hands, Shigeru pulls his phone out of his bag and texts Sadashi.

_uemura got fired_  
_i think it was kichiro_

Unlike him, Sadashi doesn't keep her phone on hand at school, so she won't see it straight away. Still, it feels good to tell someone.

After a minute’s contemplation, he unlocks his phone again and texts Kichiro.

_Thank you_

He expects Kichiro will be too busy to reply as well, but a message pings back almost immediately.

_He won't come near you again. Study hard._

Shigeru stares at his phone with a disbelieving smile. For once, he's happy to hear Kichiro nagging him. Relief slowly spreads through him, making him feel light. He forces himself to stand up, and splashes some cold water on his face before heading to class.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Kentarou doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s going to say to Yahaba, but he can appreciate the wisdom of Watari’s advice to talk to him. Avoiding each other for two days has only made him feel like crap, and if they’re going to go back to being enemies, or whatever they were before, he’d rather know about it upfront.

Rather than suffer through another dismal practice, Kentarou goes looking for Yahaba at lunch instead. It doesn’t take long to seek him out, but approaching him is another matter.

Yahaba and his friends are sitting in the covered courtyard. Kentarou recognises Watari, cuddled up with a pretty girl from Kentarou’s class, and Yahaba’s friend Tora, along with a group of others he knows only by sight. Yahaba and Tora sit apart from the rest, close together so that, if Kentarou didn’t know better, he might think they were dating.

It might be wise to sit and consider his options first, but Kentarou only really believes in attacking a problem head on. So, rather than wait, or piss around finding another solution, Kentarou throws open the door and marches over to the group.

“Yahaba,” he says, although Yahaba is already staring at him wide-eyed. “We need to talk.”

Yahaba blinks. He licks his bottom lip slowly, and for a moment Kentarou is certain he’s about to be rejected. Then Yahaba nods, and gets to his feet. “The clubroom?” he suggests. “If it’s about team stuff.”

“Yeah,” Kentarou says, swallowing. “Uh, that’s right.”

The walk to the clubroom isn't far, which is just as well, because they make the trip in an increasingly uncomfortable silence. Yahaba takes his time rooting the key out from his bag, and when he finally goes to unlock the door, Kentarou notices that his hands are shaking.

"You okay?" he mutters.

Yahaba glances over his shoulder. "Fine." He finally gets the door open and they traipse inside. Yahaba sets down his bag and puts his hands on his hips. "Okay," he says, doing his best captain impression. "What's this about?"

Kentarou hesitates, rocking his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "Um. Watari said—your uh, your teacher?"

Yahaba's expression shutters, his eyes narrowing. "He got fired."

"Good," Kentarou says, letting out a sigh of relief.

Yahaba frowns. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

"No!" Kentarou says, too loudly, his temper getting the better of him. He groans and throws his own bag down with Yahaba's. It's all well and good attacking the problem if he knows what to say, but he's lost. "I wanna...know where we stand," he tries, licking his bottom lip nervously. "After what happened at the weekend. At the shrine, and...and in my room."

"What?" Yahaba says in a nasty voice. "You want to know if we're _boyfriends_ now?"

Kentarou scowls. The comeback spills out of him. "As if I'd be caught dead dating a prissy little rich boy like you."

"Right," Yahaba snarls. "You just wanted to fool around and then pretend I don't exist."

The words make something dark and foul-tasting curl up Kentarou's chest, poisoning the back of his throat. "You're the one who was weird about it afterwards!" he yells, stepping forward into Yahaba's space. He raises a hand and jabs him in the chest with his finger. " _You_ ran off on Sunday—"

"I had to get home!" Yahaba shouts, squaring his shoulders and refusing to back down. "And it's not like you tried to stop me going."

"You could barely look at me!" Kentarou feels hot and angry and confused. The events of Saturday night, Sunday, yesterday, all crowd into his head, jumbled up. He needs to speak, to get this out, and for once his opens his mouth and something like the right words come out. "It's clear enough you don't think I'm good enough for you—"

"What?" Yahaba says, interrupting him. "But—"

Kentarou presses on, unwilling to stop now that he's figured out what to say. "I figured you regretted it, you were acting like you—"

"Oh my _god_ ," Yahaba shouts, groaning loudly. "You're so—fuck, I can't believe how s—"

Yahaba cuts himself off, but Kentarou feels the missing word like a slap. "Stupid," he finishes, staring at Yahaba, daring him to take it back.

"No, Kyou—"

Kentarou shakes his head. "Forget it," he mutters, starting to turn away.

"Kyou— _Kyoutani_ , dammit—"

Yahaba grabs hold of his arm, and Kentarou reacts without thinking, shrugging him off hard. Yahaba stumbles back against the lockers, eyes wide.

Kentarou winces. "Sorry—"

"Fuck you," Yahaba growls, taking a step forward and then shoving him by his shoulders.

Kentarou staggers. Their eyes meet, and Kentarou feels a sudden flush of heat at the look on Yahaba's face. He's not quite smiling but there's a challenge on his face, daring Kentarou to respond. Adrenaline runs through him, and he shivers in anticipation.

"Fuck _you_ ," he snarls back, reaching out and shoving Yahaba with one hand.

Yahaba grins. He goes to shove Kentarou again, but Kentarou catches his arms and pushes him back against the lockers. His hands tighten around Yahaba's wrists, holding him in place, but Yahaba doesn't stop struggling. They're pressed together, and Kentarou can feel the pulse hammering in his wrists, can smell the soap on him from his shower after practice.

"Call me stupid," Kentarou hisses.

"No," Yahaba says, struggling to get free. He kicks one of Kentarou's shins and they wrestle together, pulling each other's clothes out of place. Yahaba forces him back and Kentarou trips, sending the two of them crashing down onto the concrete floor together.

They both groan, but the reprieve only lasts a few seconds before Kentarou rolls them over, pinning Yahaba to the floor.

" _Say it_."

Yahaba groans and kicks him off, and the two of them reach out again, catching at each other's arms.

"I didn't—fucking—regret it," Yahaba says breathlessly, as they both struggle to get on top.

"You left!"

"I _like you_."

Kentarou stops struggling. His fingers loosen their tight hold on Yahaba's shirt. "What?"

Yahaba takes a deep breath. He rolls over, so that they're lying on their backs side by side, and turns to look at Kentarou. His flushed cheeks are probably thanks to the fight, but even so the sight makes Kentarou's stomach twist a little. "You know I don't think you're stupid, I'm sorry, I just—" He laughs and reaches out to touch Kentarou's jaw. "You're stupid about _this_. We both are."

Kentarou's throat feels tight, making it hard to swallow. He feels suddenly shy, but he can't not ask. "You like me?"

Yahaba shrugs and looks away, his blush deepening. "If wanting to kiss you a lot more means I like you, then yeah."

"I wanna kiss you too," Kentarou mutters, the admittance making his ears burn.

With a soft sigh, Yahaba turns onto his side and leans over. Kentarou catches his shoulder and guides him down, parting his mouth to taste Yahaba's bottom lip, to slide their tongues together slowly. Yahaba makes a soft noise and moves closer, rolling his weight onto Kentarou's chest and kissing him more deeply.

Heat surges through Kentarou; he slides his hands into Yahaba’s hair, and lifts his knee to wrap his leg around Yahaba’s, pulling him closer.

Yahaba sighs happily. His mouth opens again to Kentarou’s, rolling their tongues together before he pulls back slightly, sucking on Kentarou’s bottom lip. It makes him clutch Yahaba tighter, shuddering with arousal.

“Yahaba,” Kentarou murmurs, stroking through his hair and nuzzling his mouth against Yahaba’s cheek. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Hey!” Yahaba squeaks in protest, but the complaint dies quickly when Kentarou flicks the tip of his tongue against Yahaba’s ear, then bites his earlobe gently. Yahaba shivers and his fingers clutch in the fabric of Kentarou’s shirt. “Okay,” Yahaba murmurs. “I’m an asshole. Keep doing that.”

Kentarou obliges him, because as much as he thinks they probably need to talk more, it’s also pretty obvious that they suck at it. And making Yahaba shiver like that is infinitely preferable to yelling, or hitting each other.

“I'm s-sorry,” Yahaba hisses, turning his head to giver better access when Kentarou starts to kiss the side of his neck. “Mm...Kyou.”

“Bell's gonna go soon,” Kentarou mutters, pulling Yahaba's shirt aside to get at more skin.

Yahaba moves and his thigh slips between Kentarou's legs. Kentarou tenses, and they pull back a little way, Yahaba turning to meet his eyes.

“We should stop,” Yahaba murmurs, but when Kentarou nods, Yahaba rolls his hips down slowly.

“Shit,” Kentarou hisses, grabbing hold of Yahaba's waist. He's turned on enough that he doesn't want to stop, but even if he knew what he was doing, even if they were ready to do this, Kentarou is pretty sure it shouldn't be happening on the dirty floor of the clubroom.

“Sorry,” Yahaba says again. He kisses Kentarou's jaw softly then pushes himself up on his hands, putting some much needed space between them.

“It's fine.” Kentarou sits up, and then they're eye to eye again.

Yahaba leans toward him slightly, and Kentarou moves to meet him, and then they're kissing again, flopping uselessly back to the floor with their arms wrapped around each other. Kentarou kisses Yahaba hard, desperately, like this is his only chance, and when they break apart to breathe he kisses Yahaba's cheeks instead, moving across the bridge of his nose from one side of his face to the other.

“Stop, stop," Yahaba says through quiet laughter, pushing him away. “I can hear the bell.”

Kentarou groans. He wants to lie here for the rest of the afternoon, until they have to get up and change for afternoon practice, but he's never missed class and he doesn't really want to start now.

“After practice,” Yahaba promises, grabbing his face and kissing him quickly. “Do you have time?”

Unfortunately, Kentarou already knows that he _doesn’t_ have time, and he groans again softly. “No,” he mumbles unhappily.

Yahaba bites his lip. "Would a tutoring session help?"

Kentarou looks at him sidelong. "It might."

"Only might?" Yahaba murmurs, his lips hovering over Kentarou's.

"We're gonna be late."

Yahaba rolls his eyes, but he hauls himself to his feet anyway and reaches down to give Kentarou his hand. They straighten up and pull their clothes back in order, brushing off the dust from the floor. Yahaba runs his fingers through his hair, fussing with it to get it right, and Kentarou doesn't realise he's watching until Yahaba pauses and gives him a crooked smile.

"I thought you said we were going to be late?"

Kentarou wants to kiss him so much he aches. "Yeah," he mutters, bending down to reach for his bag. "Let's go."

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Shigeru texts Sadashi after practice to let her know that he’ll be home late, and to beg her to smooth things over with their mother. She reluctantly agrees on the condition that he tells her every gross detail when he gets home.

"That your sister?" Kyoutani asks, as Shigeru slips his phone back into his pocket.

"Mm."

Kyoutani glances at him and looks away again with a smirk playing around his mouth.

"What?"

"Whatever she said made you blush."

Shigeru puts his hands to his face, then he sighs and gives Kyoutani a half-hearted shove. "If I'm blushing, it's your fault."

Kyoutani glances at him again, letting his eyes linger this time, running over Shigeru's face and lingering on his mouth. "Why's that?" he says at last.

"It's a secret," Shigeru mutters, turning away. He's a little disgusted to discover that Kyoutani is actually...kind of _good_ at this when he puts his mind to it. "How much further to Yue's school?"

"Just up here."

Thankfully, Yue's presence makes it impossible for them to keep flirting. She's over the moon to see Shigeru, so much so that Kyoutani gets annoyed and snaps at her to calm down while they're waiting for the bus. He insists that Yue sit next to him, and not Shigeru, though she keeps turning around in her seat to talk to him for the whole journey.

When they finally reach Kyoutani's house, his aunt greets them at the door.

"Ken-chan!" she says, halting in the doorway of their kitchen. "You didn't tell me you were bringing a friend home."

"This is Shigeru!" Yue says, hopping down the hallway to her aunt with only one shoe off. "Come and meet him!"

"Yue," Kyoutani says in a warning voice. He looks to his aunt and shrugs apologetically. "Sorry, I forgot to text. He's gonna help me study."

"I'm Yahaba Shigeru," Shigeru says, carefully nudging his shoes out of the way and brushing his hair to one side nervously. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Well, Yahaba-kun," she says, smiling broadly. "You can call me Tamura-san or Chika-san, whichever is less embarrassing for you. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Oh, n—"

"Yeah," Kyoutani says, cutting in front of him. "He's staying. We're gonna go study in my room, Yue will distract us otherwise."

Yue makes a disgusted noise. "I will not."

"Come on, Yue-chan," Chika says, taking Yue by the shoulders and turning her toward the kitchen. "Come and tell me about your day at school, we'll leave the boys to sort themselves out."

They disappear into the other room, though Shigeru can still hear the faint sound of Yue's complaining, and the soft tinny sound of a radio playing. Other than that, the house is quiet.

"Well," Shigeru says, swallowing before daring a look at Kyoutani. "Your room, huh?"

"It's quieter up there."

"For studying," Shigeru says, starting to smile.

"Yeah," Kyoutani mutters, glaring at him. "For studying. Come on."

They head up the stairs together, Shigeru's nerves growing with each step. Part of him hopes that they really will just study, but the rest of him, the fast-growing majority of him, really hopes they don't open a single book. He feels fraught, pent up, and he desperately wants to get his hands on Kyoutani again.

"This one's mine," Kyoutani says, pushing open one of the doors. "Sorry, you know that already."

"Mm," Shigeru hums thoughtfully. "You wonder why we haven't changed again since Saturday?"

Kyoutani shrugs. "Who cares."

Shigeru laughs at him. "Yeah, I guess so. Think it'll happen again?"

"I hope not," Kyoutani mutters, waiting for him to pass before sliding the door shut again. "It doesn't lock."

"What?"

When he looks around, Kyoutani is blushing.

"The door," Kyoutani mumbles. "It doesn't lock, like yours."

Shigeru sort of wants to laugh, but instead he finds himself flushing violently, the blood rushing to his face so fast that he feels a little dizzy.

"Oh," he says quietly.

Kyoutani clears his books out. "I have a—there's a table, in the corner. We can get our books out."

"Books?" Shigeru says faintly. "Right, books."

Nodding, Kyoutani pushes himself away from the wall and goes to the corner of the room. He pulls out a small folding table and sets it up; it's a little smaller than the table downstairs, but there's still room for them to share it. When he's done, he grabs his futon and shakes it out.

"We can, uh—we can sit on this."

"Kyoutani."

"I dunno if you're good at maths but I got stuck on those questions."

Shigeru takes a steadying breath. “Kyoutani?”

Kyoutani pauses. He's standing on the other side of the table to Shigeru, half turned away from him. "Don't laugh," he says quietly.

"I won't," Shigeru says, frowning. "Why?"

"I'm nervous."

"Oh," Shigeru says, starting to smile. "Yeah, me too."

Kyoutani looks up and catches his eye. "Really?"

Shigeru laughs. "Are you kidding? I'm terrified."

"We don't have to...anything."

Shigeru bites his lip. "I want to do _something_."

"Yeah."

Gathering his courage, Shigeru walks over to him and takes a seat on the futon. He looks up expectantly, and after a moment, Kyoutani drops down beside him. They both left practice in their volleyball gear, and Shigeru is aware that they're both a little gross and sweaty. It doesn't put him off in the slightest. He reaches out and touches Kyoutani's hand where it lays in his lap. The backs of his knuckles are dry, and Shigeru runs his fingers over them before moving his hand to Kyoutani's wrist, gently tracing the lines of his veins.

"What you said earlier," Kyoutani says, so quietly that Shigeru has to lean forward to hear him. Kyoutani turns his head, muffling his voice in the collar of his team jacket.

Shigeru frowns. "Wait, what? I can't hear you—"

"About _boyfriends_ ," Kyoutani says, almost angrily. His eyes widen when he realises what he's said, and he quickly glances at the door.

"Oh," Shigeru says with a nervous smile. "That."

"Yeah."

"I wasn't sure you'd want...that."

Kyoutani huffs at him. "You don't know anything."

"I'm beginning to realise."

Instinctively, Shigeru reaches out and takes hold of both of Kyoutani's hands. He closes his eyes, linking their fingers together and enjoying the sensation of Kyoutani's hands against his own. They feel rough and warm and strong, and he wishes they were alone in the house so that he could ask Kyoutani to put those hands on him.

"Is this some kind of ritual?"

Shigeru laughs. He opens his eyes and finds Kyoutani looking at him with a funny, indulgent smile, like he can't quite decide if he should laugh or not. Shigeru can still vividly remember how it feels to be angry with him, the sense of frustration tearing at him, but he can't imagine feeling it right now. Something about the way Kyoutani is looking back at him, gaze heavy with intent, makes his insides burn.

The moment between them stretches, seconds passing slowly. Kyoutani licks his lips and Shigeru can't look away from the tip of his tongue flashing briefly.

"Kyoutani," he murmurs, leaning closer. "You should really kiss me again."

Kyoutani swallows audibly. "Yeah?"

"Mm."

After a moment that feels inordinately long, Kyoutani closes the gap between them. Shigeru smiles into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup Kyoutani’s jaw. It’s soft, and sweet, and Shigeru _wishes_ he could tell everyone that Kyoutani kisses like this, because even if he could, nobody would believe him.

“So,” Kyoutani mumbles, leaning back slightly.

“So,” Shigeru agrees. “Boyfriends?”

Kyoutani’s smile makes his heart flutter.

**Author's Note:**

> [notallballs on tumblr](http://notallballs.tumblr.com) || reblog the fic [here](https://notallballs.tumblr.com/post/149610834977/point-all-the-fingers-notallballs-notallbees)
> 
> [artbychromo on tumblr](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com) || reblog the art [here](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com/post/149719701641/yahaba-looks-if-anything-even-more-shocked) and [here](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com/post/149760770476/kyoutani-and-yahaba-are-not-friends-which-only)


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